


Worth Everything Ever Wished For

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Murder, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Damange, Enemies to Lovers, Exile, F/M, Family Drama, Kidnapping, Middle Ages, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Murder, Patricide, Plots, Plotting, R plus L equals J, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Self-Exile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 64,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Convinced that his eldest son plots to have him murdered, the King sends his yet five-and-ten year old firstborn to serve in the Night's Watch. There he should remain until the end of all his days, the father thinks, unknowing of the son's plans.</p><p>The Prince escaped beyond the Wall no sooner than he is able to and the realm thinks itself safe from  the mad Targaryen. </p><p>Desire for vengence burns bright however and ghosts from the past do not die. </p><p>Lord Stark's daughter, Lady Lyanna, has every reason to be pleased when she is selected as consort of the Crown Prince Viserys upon the child's seventh year of life, years after the first prince is no longer and no voice speaks of him.</p><p>An unfortunate twist of fate brings her and the Crown Prince together at the Wall, when it so happens that raiders come to shed blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. O'Tide

The face reflected in the water stared with cold, black eyes at the Prince. The wound at the edge of his mouth glared an angry red. Rhaegar dipped his hands in the cool liquid and brought some up to his face. He winced at the sting of the various cuts but did not dare say a thing. If he spoke, he would only earn himself more grief.

There was enough time to at least compose himself before the door was flung open and one of the Kingsguards stepped in.

“Your Grace,” Barristan Selmy said softly in a plea that he should not make the situation more difficult.

Rhaegar, tired of yelling at walls, rubbed his hands upon his breeches. His face was still wet. He could not stall longer though. The knight signalled that he should step without and followed him into the hallway. The Prince was then led away through the maze of hall that to him held no secrets.

As he passed the rosy bricks laid together, he itched to press his fingers over them, to take something of home with him wherever it was that he would be sent to. A scrap to remind him. He could not bring himself to reach out. Instead he lowered his gaze until it had fallen upon the ground and allowed his mind to wander off.

It was only this part of him that was free. The dreaming, searching, still incapable of comprehending how it was possible that such a thing should happen to him part that would by and by dip the tip of withered fingers into the water of reality only to shudder and pull away. How else could he endure? How else could he bring himself to say the words he would have to speak before not one, or two, or even three people, but among scores of them.

And he would lie. He would lie without compunction, shamed as was for there was something in his mind that was worth more than any punishment they could possibly force upon him. Ironically enough that was truth. He planned, great believer that he was, to defend the truth with untruth. Rhaegar would have avoided such methods had there been aught else he could have done. Anything else, and he would have taken that option.

There was not, however, and he owed it to himself to uncover every tiny bit of the truth. To have justice done. Not for his own person only. Dead men could not do so.

Raising his gaze from the polished ground, the dragon Prince looked upon the great pair of doors looming before him. A shiver, cold and unforgiving, ran down his spine. The blood chilled in his veins and a buzzing sound filled his eras. Fright was the name of the fiend that plagued him.

Heart squeezed tightly in his chest, Rhaegar took another step and another and then another until he was lightheaded. It became easier, despite the many eyes cutting him like daggers. They flayed him, no doubt hurling insults at the once beloved figure.

The Queen was not present. It was the one detail that hit him upon entering the hall. He might have well been blind to all but the empty chair before the first step leading to the Iron Throne. She was not there. The one person whose support he had need of, and she was nowhere to be seen. His lady mother, the poor ghost of a woman, torn between her two children, unknowing and unwilling.

It hurt. Her absence was a void. Rhaegar’s gaze shifted to the man sitting the throne.

For him he held little affection. Contempt would be too light a word to describe the feelings his father’s utter betrayal has woken within him. The King stared at him with eyes light and blazing, thin lips pressed together to appear a straight bloodless line. He wondered for a moment if it had been him that had ordered the Queen away.

But nay, her chair had been brought out. If she was not present then it had naught to do with her brother-husband and only with her own heart and mind. The Prince dared not allow himself to stare for much longer. He steeled himself against the onslaught that was to come and sat down upon the wooden chair.

Ser Barristan walked past him, to recover his place at the foot of the throne.

The crowd broke out into whispers. Rhaegar could well imagine what their topics included, what vile speculations they crafted between themselves. He refused to look to the side even as the Lord Hand of the King sat upon his own chair and other members of the Small Council followed suit.

Would that he could someday look upon their faces as they lied in a pool of their own blood and remind them that they had turned him into the monster.

The King held a hand up. Tywin Lannister nodded and the crowd fell silent. It was time.

“Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, you are brought before court to be trialed for plotting against your King and slaying your next of kin, Prince Jaehaerys, by the foul method of poisoning. Evidence shall now be presented before the court.”

It was well crafted, Rhaegar had to admit. Every small detail had been taken care of. And it left him no escape. The motive, the accomplices, the poison, they had been recorded. The evidence was brought forth and before the eyes and ears all steps of the process were explained to the members of the court. Gasps rose from the collective gathering, sighs of horror and revolts.

The Prince said nothing to all this. They were determined to see him branded his own brother’s murdered, a kinslayer, the very worst sort of criminal, abhorrent in the eyes of men and gods. He listened to his supposed story spilling over from the lips of the Grand Maester.

When a Targaryen was born the gods flipped a coin. On one side stood greatness, on the other madness. The coin had just revealed its side. And the sight of a curse. Rhaegar stoically bore through the whole of it, wondering, waiting impatiently for his turn to come.

“My good lords and ladies,” Tywin began speaking once more as Pycelle had said his piece, “with all that has been said upon the matter, all evidence presented, it is time to pass judgement upon the criminal.” An excited thrill rose from the nobles littering the sides of the hall. They had come to see a tragic mummery, they should have the benefit of a full performance.

There was no need to confer, no need to weight and judge any more. The conclusion had been drawn long past. It did not surprise Rhaegar. He thought for one moment to demand trail by combat. For the first time he looked upon the crowd.

Dayne was standing at the forefront, gaze burning into him. There was a plea in the eyes of his friends, a request that he allow the aid. Rhaegar considered the matter. If Arthur fought it would be against a member of the Kingsguard. If he lost, he would die and with him all the dreams of greatness. Nay, he could not risk that.

Trial by combat out of the way, the Prince dispassionately listened to the sound of the Lord Hand’s voice. “We hereby find you, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, guilty of plotting against the crown and of murdering your own kin. From this moment on you are stripped of all office and lands, relieved if your coin and status.” There the man stopped. He looked a moment upon the King. Aerys nodded his head, hand moving upwards. The sleeve of his robe caught upon the sharp edge of a sword. Droplets of blood were soon to follow. “For this crime the penalty is death.”

The King stood from his throne. “In the face of such heavy losses suffered at the cruelty of fate and man, I find myself unable to take the life of one of my own children, no matter that they should have taken mine had his vile plan succeeded.” It was a move as such only a genius could think of given the circumstances. “If you shall admit your guilt and repent,” the addressed Rhaegar, “than I shall be merciful and allow you life, as such that you may have, serving the realm at its borders.”

An exile. Rhaegar would have laughed. But the peals of laughter were stuck in his throat. Five-and-ten to be sworn to the Night’s Watch and leave all the life he had ever known behind. Him. A prince of the realm. Gods, but he had not thought it a possibility when they had come to him with it. He had to accept.

“Before the realm, before the present lords and ladies, I admit to having plotted against my King and that my actions have resulted in the death of an innocent.” The words tasted like ash upon his tongue. “I am deeply regretful of these shameful acts I have committed and before you call for the clemency of the king and gods, the old and the new, as forgiveness is out of reach for those like me.”

His father’s grim face took on a pinched cast. He had thought that Rhaegar would refuse. There was a certain pride to the dragon, one that seldom did any Targaryens disregard in favour of their own salvation. Yet to Rhaegar’s mind there was no use in it. He needed to live so he might clear his name, one way or another.

“Then, by the old gods and the new, you have of me leniency. From this day forth,” declared the man standing before the throne upon the last step, “you may wash the shame of your deeds in the service of the realm. Have it written down, my Lord Hand, that Prince Rhaegar shall be erased from every record ever to have been stained by it. Furthermore, in the Book of the Dragon his name shall be blackened out. There has never been a Rhaegar Targaryen.”

This he had not counted upon. Shocked the former Prince staggered to his feet. It was one matter to have the practical aspects of his position taken from him. Yet it was quite another to erase him from the record of written history.

Seemingly satisfied with the reaction, the King declared the matter done with. “Take the prisoner back to the black cells. I have no wish to see the face of this nameless man ever again.”

A battle. That was all his father had won, Rhaegar decided as he was led out of the great hall. He heard conversation breaking out.

It still seemed a night terror come to haunt him. Something he might shake away, something he might wake from.

“Halt! Halt, damn you!” a voice cried out from behind him. The guards charged with guiding him to the dark, dank cell awaiting him checked their steps. They looked behind them and with a small hesitation allowed the man to approach.

Arthur made his way to stand before Rhaegar. “Why did you not demand trial by combat, you fool?” his friend demanded, one hand resting upon his shoulder. “I would not have shied from anyone, be they Barristan the Bold or the White Bull himself.”

“I know,” Rhaegar answered, the injury at the corner of his mouth pulling painfully. “That is why I did not. ‘Tis enough that I fall. There is naught by way of need to take you with me.” Arthur’s jaw clenched. If only he knew. Rhaegar pushed his hand away. “I desire no one’s pity.”

“You do not have it,” his friends assured him. “Nor shall you, not of me.” The Dornishman retreated out of the way. “But I refuse to abandon you.”

“There is no me,” came the bristling answer.

The guards advanced upon him. It was time to part from his friend. Rhaegar truly hoped that one day Dayne could make peace with the matter. It was a true pity that he should work himself up over matters that he did not have the power to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, I decided to go rogue with this one.


	2. Look On Down From The Bridge

 

 

 

 

The foul stench wafted through the length of the meagre accommodations. Upon the ground dried cold straw served for mattresses to the nine individuals, most of whom had heaped upon themselves a good portion of the dried grass to keep the chill at bay.

In the dead of night not much could be heard, save for snores and snorts and the occasional mumble. And so it ought to be for men who’d been travelling long into the day and far from home. Or at least for some. The newest addition had been picked up straight from his irons and adopted within the small circle of the brave and heroic crossing the Seven Kingdoms towards the great Wall.

Were this an epic tale of woe and adventure, the company would have been made of brave knights and skilled warriors. In the case of the farcical tragedy of Rhaegar Targaryen, there stood by his side not one knight nor squire, but three thieves, a man who stood accused of murder and two rapists and their valiant leader, by name known as Yoren.

These were the Prince’s travelling companions and within a short while the men he would have to call his brothers. In Maeglin’s Tales, the title character, dragon rider of Old Valyria, had flown over the known world trice to form a band of merry men to aid him in his deeds of greatness. He had called them his brothers, for together they had fought all manners of evils, from the ice creatures of the Frostlands to the engulfing nothingness waiting at the edge of the world.

Rhaegar suspected the only battle he would be seeing was one against lice and maggots upon the icy lands of the North. Furthermore, he was assured that the companions afforded to him carried all the depth of a shallow puddle and the bravery of a hunted fowl. Greatness was not an achievement he would ever touch, as it stood, no more than his father might claim care and sainthood before the Seven when he was no longer of the living. In that respect the Prince knew little doubt. Maeglin could, of course, keep his adventures and his brothers. The Prince did not intend to linger very long within the walls of those high keeps. If the gods were gods, aid would be swift.

He envied, however, these wretches sharing with him unused the stables. He envied such constrictions as had them tightly bound in lack of knowledge of their own folly. Especially the two who slept a little ways away from the rest. The thieves and the murdered would sometimes speak in hushed whispers of thick ropes upon finding out the crimes of the other two.

The Prince had declined involvement. For all he found little but revulsion towards them, he would not spill the blood. The absence of concern over such matters would keep him far removed from all these creatures and when he left, he would not be compelled to folly. Such was to be hoped.

The night wore on with all the grace of a drunken harlot sprawled about in mire and befouled by callous usage. Within the embrace of such a lover, it should come as no surprise that the Prince, come from better parts of the world, found himself discomforted and rather out of sorts. He could neither sleep nor rest easily, but was forced to wait in silence and loneliness for the first rays of sunlight to come through. For only in the light of day could be put a distance between himself and these others.

To his suffering, time, the wanton creature, was pleased to take rests between rests and dilate greatly so as to keep its veil of darkness. But in the end, from East came the hero with the gold spears, striking deep into the heart of blackness, endurance all but gone.

And upon the sky claimed its way a small pale circlet to look down upon the rest of the world. From the comfortable perch it seemed to laugh. It might well be laughing at the misfortunes seen, for Rhaegar did not doubt that they were many, his own part of the collective mummer’s farce.

Yoren, the first to wake, kicked left and right at the men upon the straws, cursing them as he went. Rhaegar rose before he was reached and thus avoided having his sides bruised. He did not, however, escape a less than reverent salutation. To his grief, they first had to break their fast together before taking any further step without.

Small blackened lumps of bred were passed along, each man given his own. Rhaegar broke his in half and took a bite. The thing was as dry within as it was without, its taste stale. He forced it down his throat nonetheless, fighting with the impulse to spit out the nourishment.

One of the thieves held his hand out in unashamed demand. “If you won’t have that, princeling, you may give it to me.”

With a flick of the wrist, Rhaegar threw the untouched half at the man. Quick reflexes put to good use, the thief caught it and his it away. Unwilling to linger with them any longer, Rhaegar stood to his feet and walked to the doors, pulling them open.

Yoren said naught to that for he took his time with other matters.

Satisfied that he was given at least the illusion of privacy, Rhaegar looked without, eyes upon the blankets of snow.

Winterfell was only a couple of days farther from this point, if his calculations held.

“If you catch your death of cold,” Rhaegar heard a voice from behind him, “they will rob your corpse.” The warning was met with a shrug. Rhaegar did not remember having been ill at any point in his existence. He was thus willing to take the risk.

“It is good that I’ve naught on me to enrich them.” He looked over his shoulder at the contorting face of the black brother. “How long until we depart?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A dark beast cut through the snow past them, its legs kicking frantically even as the screams of children could be heard. Instinctively searching for a weapon, Rhaegar swore under his breath when his efforts were frustrated by the blatant absence of a blade. But his weapon would nut be needed, he realised as soon as from behind a line of trees the horse appeared again, this time the two lumps upon his back resembling children rather than hunches.

At the speed the animal was going, if it knocked any of the two off, or even both, they would die.

“Yoren!” one of the children screeched, the eldest perhaps. “Yoren, help!”

Though the man was already moving, Rhaegar was unsure he could make it in time. The horse would disappear again behind the line of trees, this time mayhap matching into the woods. Nay, that would not do.

Unfastening his cloak, the Prince allowed it to fall to the ground and picked a tree that was easily climbable. “Steer the horse to your right,” he called out to the children. It was the girl who looked at him. “Steer it to your right.”

The climb was not difficult and within moments he had reached the point he was searching for. To help the girl he whistled long after the steed. The horse, attracted by the sound, moved naturally towards him.

He continued calling the beast over and, unexpectedly, some of his companions were doing the same. For what purpose, Rhaegar chose not to consider. Nonetheless, the horse approached. Allowing his weigh to drag him down, Rhaegar send up a swift prayer to the Warrior for courage and lunged after the two children.

With what one could only call the best of fortunes, he managed to take hold of both, lifting them from the steed’s back, the animal falling prey to the other travellers who caught it in a circle with agility.

The excitement dies down as soon as they were all back upon the ground. The two children kept looking from him towards Yoren, clutching hands and waiting, as if for a chastisement to be handed to them. Which did happen, of course, as soon as Yoren managed to open his mouth.

It was with such an occasion that Rhaegar met two of Lord Stark’s children, the youngest of them even. The first a girl of seven years, wearing her bravery as a shield, and the other a boy just slightly younger, looking around with a healthy dose of unrest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Later, the lord wishes to see you,” Yoren let him know as they stepped within the chamber. “I am persuaded to allow it and not have you locked in the dungeons with the other. Do not make me regret it.”

The warning was met with a nod. What could he possibly do in order to incur such wrath at any rate?

Left to the joys of his bedchamber, Rhaegar saw neither hair nor hide of the sour Night’s Watch brother or the other men.

He was treated to an altogether different manner of company in the form of two imps insistent on lemon cakes however.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rickard Stark was a man not young in years. He stood tall and wide, the girth of a warrior rather than that of a lord fed within his keep. His face, oddly gaunt and slightly flushed, presumably from wine, boasted a thick beard, dark of colour and peppered with white hairs every now and again. Two small eyes, chips of icy, stared at him from beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows.

At his side were two women, similar in traits. One Rhaegar took to be Lady of Winterfell. She stood closest to her husband, sporting proudly a brooch that matched the one he wore. Her dark hair billowed in the gentle breeze, soft face cast in warm shades of bronze by the light of the fire. She had no smile to spare but her gaze was a gentle thing, reminiscent of his own mother’s caressing looks. Rhaegar’s stare lingered a tad longer upon eyes the colour of a storm before he dared look upon the third person.

Presumably newly wedded and visiting her family in the North, Lady Branda Rogers shared her sister’s colouring and slim built. Her face, however was less angular, somewhat rounded even, framed by tumbling curls. She smiled, not with her lips, but with her eyes. The smile of a woman who was inviting, Rhaegar understood. A pity he would have to decline.

“It might take some time,” Lord Stark said, breaking the slow-building spell. “Whoever is responsible for this, Your Grace, has made sure to cover their tracks.”

“It is entirely possible, my lord, that it is my own father behind this. No matter, though, I wish the culprit found. As long as there is the attempt, I am at ease.” He could not know if the show of trust would work to his advantage, but the prince perceived in the wish of Rickard Stark for a great alliance an opportunity.

The King would never allow any of its sort on the words of advice he received from his council. It was most likely, at this point, the one change Rhaegar had. It would be foolish of him not to seize it with both hands and hold it to him tightly.

“Whoever it is, Your Grace, this person shall be found and made to pay.” The assurance slipped past Rhaegar. “You have my word of honour.”

The Prince could not help but wonder how much the vow was worth. Alas, he could not test it with bribery of trickery so he allowed the notion to sail past him, choosing to make another request. “Upon the matter of my promise, I should feel better were it committed to parchment.” Tangibility was always to be counted upon in such cases.

“Of course, Your Grace. My maester shall bring it to you.” That concession made, Lord Rickard rose to his feet. “I believe our business is concluded for the moment.”

The faint trace of superciliousness did not escape Rhaegar. He commented not on it, however, for fear of losing the tenuous alliance he had made. It was best to endure for the moment and when his day came he would make sure to return all favours, of whatever nature.

Leaving for the rooms his former status had afforded him, Rhaegar was not surprised to hear soft footsteps behind him after a short while. Without looking back he stopped in the middle of the hallway and waited for the other to approach. That too was a matter solved without much trouble.

Branda Rogers stepped into view, a true smile upon her vermilion painted lips. “I hope Your Grace does not find me too forward, but I could not help being moved by what I have heard. It is not everyday that good men find themselves unjustly set upon.”

It was not everyday that a woman worked up the nerve to proposition him like she was. Rhaegar doubted the woman knew not. “My lady, your words are a balm.” He moved to make past her, believing his work to be done, but she would not be so easily appeased.

“Your Grace, I pray you, allow me to unburden myself.” Her hand was upon his shoulder moments later, fingers clutching at the thick garment. “It would be a pity to not hear me out. My sister and good-brother stand to you as hosts.” Her tall frame leaned into his. “Shall you give me a moment.”

“A thousand even, if that be your will.” Rhaegar had not thought she might insist. Since, however, he saw no recourse, the Prince obliged the lady , offering his arm.

“Come. There is a perfect spot where we might talk.” She led him through the cavernous entrails of the ancient giant towards some unknown point. “Winterfell is my girlhood home. I still know every nook and cranny.”

Rhaegar suspected he would know a few of those himself by the end of their companionship. He walked forth nevertheless, her earlier words ringing through his mind. As long as she was pleased, her lips would remain firmly shut and he could enjoy the aid of Lord Stark and his men. That was what he needed.

And Branda, formerly of Winterfell, was not the very worst price he might have been asked for. In fact, the slender woman, even with the wide eyes and thin lips, in direct contrast with her sister, was comely. Pleasant he supposed the rest of her as well to be.

“I would be honoured to be shown some of them if you can be thus persuaded.” Her tinkling laughter rose with startling clarity.

“I would rather you were eager. Honour is a cold bedmate.” She pulled on his sleeve. “Choose your spouse for honour, Your Grace, and your lovers for passion. If you have the good fortune that they coincide, my suggestion is to bind them tightly to you.”

“Lovers I am sure I can work past the vows awaiting me. Spouses, I fear, I will know only if they belong to other men.” She pulled him past an arching doorway and Rhaegar ducked before his forehead could intimately acquaint itself with the cold stone.

“This here is a passageway that has not been used in years. When I was a girl I used to hide in it from Nan.” That creature with blood-red gums and an intense stare. Rhaegar shuddered lightly. “You shan’t believe where it leads.”

And indeed he could hardly believe it. A small cramped room.

Rhaegar wondered if he ought to go ahead and please the lady, but Branda had more to show him. With the door closing behind them, the prince felt her shift about. Within moments an unsettling noise could be heard and to his great astonishment the wall stones parted, allowing them entrance into a tunnel.

The lit scone Branda held was passed to him. “Watch your step, it might be slippery,” she warned, going ahead.

He followed silently. The ground was indeed slightly slippery, thin ice having formed upon it. But the more they advanced, the less ice there was and mud took its place. Branda never stopped. On she went, dragging him along. The keep must have been long connected to such small caves, he reckoned as the tunnel became larger.

At a long last they arrived near what looked to be a shallow pool. “Not even Lyarra knows about this one,” she promised, beckoning him forward. “Here, touch it.”

Kneeling at the side of the clear stretch of water, Rhaegar slowly allowed his fingers to dip within, half-expecting that chill would bite into them. The exact opposite happened. Hot water fooled around his fingers, the embrace tight and comfortable. “How is this possible?”

“Winterfell is built upon such heated springs,” the older woman answered. Soft noises marked the disrobing. “A blessing from the gods some have said.”

Smart craftsmanship was more like it. It must have taken some quite the skill to redirect the flowing waters through the inner walls of the keep. The architectural marvel resides in the fact that stone had been used and to the very day it had not been eaten away by the very fluids it contained. If ever better had been done, then it was upon Dragonstone with its grotesque creatures guarding the keep from their towers.

But Rhaegar looked at Branda, trying not to be too insistent. Despite being more than a dozen years his senior, she was not the lesser of any woman he’d seen. Granted, his own experience was less than varied. Even so, he considered himself more than capable of forming accurate judgement.

“Shall we test their generosity?” she questioned, taking him by the hand. “It might yield unexpected results.” The many promises of temptation. Rhaegar gave a nod of the head even as she worked upon the laces, fingers quick and able.

She leaned in, soft lips touching his. It was the heat and wonder that left his mind a muddle, Rhaegar told himself. Nay, what fault had he is the lady should be willing?

 

 

 

 


	3. The Rubble Or Our Sins

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Tread with care, Your Grace,” Lyanna warned, holding the princeling close to her as they crossed the ice-covered bridge. Viserys Targaryen stared up at her with light eyes and a smile, as if to assure her she had naught to fear. Were it up to her, she’d be racing Ned.

It was not that Lyanna disliked the child. Quite the contrary, she found her young betrothed to be the sweetest boy, when matters were going his way. But even so, to spent all her day with the child was no treat, much as she found him endearing.

Before them walked the King and her lord father, side by side, discussing some scheme they’d come up with. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch walked behind him, listening with half an ear to the conversation, his eyes looking down upon his men. And behind the man two Kingsguards kept watch as well, warning danger away with their mere presence.

Viserys as well had been given his own White Cloak. Ser Arthur Dayne stared dispassionately about the place, as if he could not wait to be done with his duties. Of course, Lyanna well understood that bitterness was in the man’s nature, for she had yet to see him crack as much as a smile. And he would not say why either, though she’d spent a summer pestering him on the matter when her Prince had been a boy of five.

“Do you not find the air refreshing, ser?” she questioned. Drawing in a deep breath, she encouraged the child on her arm to do the same. Viserys complied up to a point then gasped loudly, presumably as a result of his nostrils sticking together. She held back a chuckle at that so as to not cause him an embarrassment. The man answered her by manner of a sharp nod, but did not deign do more.

Left once more with the bitter taste of failure upon her lips, Lyanna returned her attention to the child pressed in her care and pulled a face at him, gesturing towards Ser Dayne. “I do not think he much likes me, Your Grace.”

“Ser Dayne,” demanded Viserys in a thin, yet amusingly commanding voice, “do you not like Lady Lya?” In his innocence, the Prince thought direct confrontation was the best solution. The knight paused before shrugging.

“Do I have to like her, Your Grace? I shall do as commanded.” It was the impassive attitude, Lyanna thought, which turned her stomach the most. As if she’d done anything to deserve his censure.

“I like her, Ser Dayne. You have to like her too.” The clarification produced the slightest hint at amusement she’d ever seen, and just as soon it was gone.

“Very well then, I like Lady Lyanna,” he answered, giving her a pointed look. Indeed, he must have been thinking that he liked her as much as the prince liked drinking the Grand Maester’s brews. Her brows knit together in annoyance. The man was impossible. She was only trying to prepare herself for life at court and he acted as if she’s stolen his coin or some such heinous crime. Lyanna rolled her eyes.

But they had also reached the end of the bride by that point and the Lord Commander was explaining something to her father and the King. Instead of waiting upon their word, Lyanna beckoned the prince to come after her. “Let’s watch the brothers train,” she suggested, helping Viserys down the slippery steps to the crude benches. She sat down first then took the boy upon her lap. He did not protest such treatment, but seemed to find comfort, for he leaned into her, as he was wont to do, and fell into reverent silence as two men clad in black met upon the field.

The first, a sturdy lad, might be as young as Ned, wielded a blunt sword which he swung back and forth with little finesse. His opponent, an older man, held a tight grip upon his weapon. Unlike the young brother, this one held himself still, eyes upon the adversary. The boy launched, colliding his side into the man’s sword. There was no cut, but from the sound of pain emerging, Lyanna rather thought there would be a nice bruise to show for such effort. She winced when the foolish boy tried a second time to catch his opponent with the guard down, only to be lied flat.

“Should they not be training these men?” she questioned, her voice flat.

The one person from whom she’d not expected an answer was the one to speak. “This is training, my lady.” Startled she looked up at him. Ser Dayne kept to his feet, surveying the man at arms coldly. Despite not looking at her, he seemed to know what she was thinking, for he went on, “Why the grimace, my lady? Did you believe they would be seated down and the master-at-arms would explain to them these things? Experience is the best teacher.”

“Aye, but they are liable to be harmed,” she pointed out. When one of her brother showed her such moves, they were careful to explain how it worked. But this master-at-arms seemed more inclined to beat the lesson into his pupils. His sword came down upon a second opponent. “It is unnecessarily cruel.”

“These are not men one should pity,” the Kingsguard returned. “They are thieves, rapists and murderers.” They certainly did not look it, Lyanna decided, gazing at them over Viserys’ head. One or two seemed shady, but other than that, they seemed to her as common as the next man, thought might be less clean.

The third man fell to the ground, having been knocked over the head. He cupped a hand over the wounded area and took the insults thrown his way. This was no way to properly train men. Lyanna stood to her feet. “Might be ‘tis enough for the day. Your Grace, shall we find something hot to drink and some lemon cakes?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She woke with a start, disoriented and slightly discomforted. Lyanna turned on her side, trying to decide whether nature called to her. Recognising that her bladder had been as asleep as her head, she concluded, after a few moments of searching, that it had not been the case. But aught had woken her. She shifted, trying to free her legs from the tangle of her sheets and furs. The heat was the most likely culprit. The furs must have been baking her alive.

Pushing everything away, Lyanna rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched. She climbed out of bed and made her way to the shuttered lancet. Deftly, she pulled the wooden bar from its place and opened her sight to a sky as inky as sooth. It seemed the morning was not yet upon them. She yawned and stretched a second time, prepared to bar the window and return to her bed.

That was when she heard it. A long scratching sound came from somewhere without. Alert, she leaned forth on instinct, listening for a twin. For a few moments there was nothing but silence which greeted her ears. Not the manner of silence which promised rest and restoration. Nay, it was the sort which brought trouble on its heels. And right was she proven when a second screech exploded, this time closer. Without a second thought, Lyanna lunged for the door and tugged it open, making certain it slammed against the wall. She looked without and was greeted by the sight of a horrifying creature, painted all over. The man grinned at her.

She fell back and hurried to her bed, sliding beneath the narrow frame to take hold of her knife. He must have thought she’d run away in fear and like an imbecile followed her into the chamber. As he did not see her on the first look, he made towards a narrow closet. It was more than enough of a chance for Lyanna to spring from her hiding spot and flee. He heard her even barefoot, but it was too late for she was without the hall, banging on all doors as she went.

Alas, that gave him the time he needed to catch up to her and grab her. Lyanna did not scream, she merely brought down her knife, piecing the man’s arm. It was he who screamed fit to bring the roof down. Fir herself, she was dropped to the ground as a door swung open. Not much caring who it was the man should face next, she hied herself to the Prince’s room around the corner, not at all surprised to see that the Kingsguards stood at the ready.

Ser Barristan Selmy softened some at the sight of her in sleeping garments with gore down her front. “Lady Lyanna, are you injured?” She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. He questioned no further, but allowed her to pass behind the three of them and into Viserys’ bedchamber.

The boy was awake, his septa holding him to her chest, murmuring prayer over her rosaries as screams came from behind the freshly shut door. “Lady Lyanna, thanked be our merciful Mother,” she said when her eyes fell upon her. “Those brutes did not injure you?”

“Nay, the blood is not mine,” she confirmed, moving further within. “Is there aught I might put on?” She was not half decent in her garments and felt all the worse for it. The septa merely nodded and gestured towards a small coffer.

“Might be they shall be a bit large on you, but for the time being they will do.” She did not wait for further instructions. Lyanna opened the coffer and took out a plain dark gown. She brought it over her head, the scratchy materials dragging across her skin, giving rise to goose bumps. She shivered. A voice yelled without in a tongue Lyanna could not recognise.

Lyanna busied herself with tying a scrap of silk around her middle to keep the dress presentable. If she gave in and acted as worried as she felt, she would only cause panic. “I am certain the trouble shall be taken care of soon,” she said, sitting on the bed next to little Viserys who had wiggled out of the septa’s hold to crawl over to her. With a whimper, he hid his face in her shoulder. “There, there,” she soothed, stroking his hair.

Something banged against the door giving her a start. The unwilling cry pouring past her lips was echoed by Viserys and the septa. The frame shook; she held her breath. It shivered; Lyanna bit her lip. It groaned beneath the weight of another assault and she had the strangest desire to cover her eyes. If only she had woken earlier. She might have brought the warning sooner. The door parted and she winced.

Ser Dayne stepped within, his white cloak splattered with blood, sword dripping with gore. “It’s not safe to remain here. I will bring you to the main hall.”

Hopping to her feet, Lyanna struggled with the weight of the Prince. He was swiftly taken by the septa and the three of them cautiously followed Ser Dayne out the door. The hall held a number of corpses and an injured Barristan Selmy. The septa paused by the man, seemingly torn.

“He’ll live. I’ve bound his wounds,” Arthur Dayne said, grabbing Lyanna by the arm as sign that they should move along. The septa nodded and followed, seeing little alternative for herself. Lyanna sucked in a harsh breath and grabbed onto the knight’s arm to keep up with his ground-eating strides. Viserys’ muffled sobs registered a few moments later. She would have soothed him has she been capable of doing so.

Down the stairs they went and into the cold night. Men were running left and right, trying to avoid arrows coming from above. Lyanna instinctively drew closer to the protective frame of the Kingsguard and dared to look back only to cry out in warning. A blur moved before her eyes and embedded itself into the septa’s very skull, entering through a side and coming out at the other.

Viserys screamed in horror as the woman blinked one before the weight of a dead body became too much to bear. Ripping herself away from the knight Lyanna ran to the child, half0crushed beneath his dead minder and pulled him out, holding tightly onto his hand to keep him from falling. But his legs were near useless as he fell into a swoon.

And then the symphony of steel caught her attention. Looking over her shoulder she saw that Arthur Dayne was engaged in battle with an unknown man, tall and broad and strong enough to slow down the knight. She hauled Viserys into her chest and tried to position him against her.

Her eyes grew wide when a second opponent lunged at the man, but to her astonishment, this third participant knocked away the hit of the opponent and held up a hand. She could not make out his features very well, but she could still see he was as light haired as Ser Arthur and about the same height. And the knight was making no move to fight any longer. Fright gripped her when Dawn pierced the ground and words were exchanged.

And then the stranger looked at her. Or rather all three men looked at her. Lyanna knew that even if she set to running, any one of them could catch up to her easily. She gulped and glared at the one who dared to approach her, then stared helplessly at Ser Dayne. He did not have to like her, but he could at least save her. She hugged Viserys even tighter.

Once the man stood before her, she could make out his features better. He was young, handsome and a Wildling by his unkempt state. Why was Ser Dayne not felling the man? She tensed when he reached out and pulled back. “Ser Dayne, do something,” Lyanna demanded. The beast was trying to take the babe. “For pity’s sake, you cannot hate us that much.”

“Silence,” the man before her spoke, distracting Lyanna long enough for her to step into a slippery pool and lose her footing. She fell backwards and was caught. With the weight of the Prince in her arms she could not even struggle.

“Let me go!” The nerve of him. Who did he think he was? “You’ve no idea whom you presume to touch. Unhand me at once.” If she could distract him long enough, she might be able to find some aid. Ser Barristan might be able to stand.

“Dayne,” the man called out, still gripping her tightly, “who is this shrew presuming to order me?” The familiarity of the address struck her as odd. Ser Dayne had been stringing them along all this time. Little wonder that he’d allowed for them to be captured.

Blood rushed to her head and in a bid of fury she kicked out, trashing savagely in his arms until he had no recourse but to drop her. Unfortunately, she too lost grip of the child. And then she heard Arthur’s voice, as cold snow brought a ringing to her ears.

“Rickard Stark’s daughter.” Was that contempt? The odious toad. If anyone deserved contempt it was him. “The King had her betrothed to the child.”

And just like that she found herself hauled to her feet, head splitting with a terrible ache and facing a couple of violet orbs that robbed her of speech with their intensity. Fortunately, they did not rob her of aught else. Her palm came swift towards his face and she imagined pain cracked against his cheek. Only too late did she realise what she’d done.

Steeling herself against the pain she was sure was coming, Lyanna closed her eyes. A moment of pause gave way to a shriek. Cast aloft, Lyanna swallowed a pained moan as her soft middle made contact with a hard shoulder. His hand delivered the responding slap afterwards in the most humiliating of fashions. The broad palm fell against her backside, the stinging of a thousand needles accompanying it along with the boisterous laughter of the men; however many of them found it amusing that was.

“I’ll not have impertinence from a traitor’s get,” came the words as warning. His hand settled deliberately across her abused flesh. Adding insult to injury he delivered a second one, this time weaker, not allowing it to be mistaken for punishment. “And that, my man, is how you subdue defiance.” His amusement irked her. Had she a knife, it would have been in the back of his head. “I’ve what I’ve come for.”

“You monster,” she muttered, not expecting that he should hear her.

But hear her he did and jostled her enough for her stomach to take another hit. “I do not think you know what that is, lady, so I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head least you wish to find out.” She knew perfectly well what it was. In fact Lyanna was certain that if she were to look the word into a scroll, this very man would be depicted alongside it.

“You’re taking her as well?” It was the unknown man who spoke, a slight accent colouring his words. “She’s not worth the trouble. Ladies rarely are.”

But her captor did not answer. He merely walked on. Like a sack of grain in his shoulder, Lyanna could do very little but wiggle every now and again, for which he would have a care to give her a light squeeze in response, letting her know he was ever aware of her thoughts. And might be to humiliate her further.

Carried to the top of the Wall, she was put down on the slippery ice. Lyanna glanced down and then at the man holding Viserys. Then she glared at Dayne. If she pushed with enough force, she was certain she could send him flying.

“Shall we go down?” her captor asked, grabbing her once more.

Alarms blared in her mind. “You are insane!”

“You’ve no idea, lady.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She rolled on her belly, her throat constricting painfully with the last release of acid food remnants. The men had allowed her to take her time after they’d covered the length of the Wall and after she’d spent countless time begging the cords that the rudimentary climbing equipment the fools were using would not break. And there she was at the end on it, kneeling in the thick show, retching every meal since she’d been born.

“Are all of them this,” the savage questioned, pausing as if to search for the right word, “delicate?” She seethed. He’d said it in a derisive manner. She’d show him delicate. Just he wait. Struggling, Lyanna managed to climb to her feet and turned around to face him with a regal glare. He maintained his amused mien.

“She’ll get over it,” his partner in crime assured, now holding Viserys in his own arms.

Looking at the horizon, Lyanna could make out the first light. If she stalled long enough might be the black brothers could catch up to them. But there was little chance of it, for the oaf pressed Viserys into Ser Dayne’s arms and stalked towards her. She took a step back carefully, but he was quicker and she still under the effects of her nausea.

Slinging her over his shoulder, he gave a light stroke against her back. “Be good,” the man warned.

And in the end she could do little but that, exhaustion taking its course, rendering her limbs heavy, her eyes unable to keep open. Somehow she fell asleep. And never would she know what happened in those hours.

When Lyanna awoke, she was on the ground, beneath a tree. Something hard was pressed into her side. Eyelids fluttered. A squeal pierced the heavy fog of sleep. “You’re awake.” It was Viserys. Had they been found? Her eyes opened wide and she sat up so fast her head was spinning.

But looking ahead, all her hopes were burned down to ash. The three men were sitting in a circle, talking. One of them had caught fish. And all of them noticed her state. In consequence, Lyanna soon found herself with a lapful of fish. “Cook those.”

Gritting her teeth against the slowly rising anger, she picked up the bound collection and threw it right back at them. “You do it!”

Her captor picked up the fish and with less of a fuss than his companion strode towards her. He knelt by her side. “If you want to starve that is your choice. But should the child starve as well?” The fish were resting in her lap once more.

Then it dawned upon her what they were doing. With a grimace, Lyanna was forced into an admission she had no desire to make. “I cannot do it.” The man raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at that. “I do not know how.”

“See, more trouble than she’s worth,” came the reminder from the other side.

“She’ll learn,” he assured, whether the others or her, Lyanna could not say. “Or she’ll starve. Boy, go with Ser Dayne.”

Viserys hesitated a moment before picking himself off of the ground and trudging towards the knight. Lyanna was just about to offer a blistering protest when the child held out his hand and the Kingsguard actually took it. What in the name of the gods was going on?

“Let him stay with me,” she pleaded, not knowing what else to do. She felt like crying. “If you have a heart, let him stay with me. I beg you.” She could feel the fat droplets sliding down her cheeks.

“Beg then,” he whispered, arm encircling her waist. “Beg me to let him stay with you.” His warm breath spilled against her ear, so close was he. That only encouraged more sobs from her. His other hand settled atop her thigh. “Well?”

“What have I ever done to you?” she managed to get out between sobs. “Oh gods, please, what did I do?” He pulled his hand away, moving it to cup her face and force her to look at him. The tears blurred his face. One finger tapped against her cheek lightly. If he meant to kill her, he should. But it was nothing more than cruel and contemptible to toy with her.

“You? I imagine you’ve done nothing,” he answered, sending her into an astonished silence. “But it’s not always the guilty to bear the punishment, is it?” Was he expecting her to answer? Lyanna remained mute in the face of his query. “You don’t remember me.”

“Should I?” Has she been thus assaulted before? Lyanna shuddered at the thought. He was grinning at her, the arm around her back bringing her even closer to him. He was enjoying it, she realised, a sense of dread settling deep in her stomach.

“One should think a maiden does not forget her erstwhile savour.” He might have said a thousand things to shock her. But none of them would have had such an effect upon her as those. Lyanna gaped. He chuckled and tapped his finger against her cheek again. “Do you know what my reward was?” She daren’t answer. “Of course you don’t. But you’ll learn. I promise.” The intimate whisper glided against her skin as his fingers fell to her throat, against her wildly beating pulse. He had a fairly wide hand, a firm grip, an invisible chain around her neck. Lyanna gulped. “That’s right, little she-wolf. Fear me. I like that.” She did believe he did.

“Who are you?” Lyanna forced herself to ask, trying not to shift in his grasp.

He pulled away then, eyeing her with relaxed disbelief. “You truly don’t recall. Very well. I am Rhaegar Targaryen.” Understanding dawned upon her. Along with horror. He smiled almost benignly at her expression. “And you,” Rhaegar continued, “from this day forth, you are mine.” He took her hand and forced its grip upon the slippery fish. “You understand, do you not?”

Aye, she understood. She understood very well. He was the bane of her existence. Lyanna nodded, unable to form words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun...for me.


	4. Shallow Water At The Shore

 

 

 

 

 

 

She flinched, eyes darting away from him. The small, soft hand beneath his trembled uncontrollably even with all the pressure he exerted to keep it still. Slippery scales brushed against his skin, and undoubtedly she felt the most of it upon her palm. There was genuine fear in her eyes, the sort one could never hope to control

It was both the best and the worst outcome. Upon a less lively creature, such a reaction might have meant certain victory. Upon Lyanna Stark, however, Rhaegar hesitated to declare himself the winner. For sure, she no longer caused him trouble, but it could be the calm before the storm he was witnessing. On the other hand, fear made one unpredictable.

Lifting his hand from hers, Rhaegar drew away from her stone-still frame. Quiet for once, she reminded him of her lady mother, dignified in her silence. He wondered how long it would last. As if to answer him, Lyanna straightened. He sighed and gestured for her to rise. “Come along. You’d best start working on those.”

“But I’ve just told you I do not know how to go about it,” she protested. So much for the peace and quiet. He levelled a hard stare her way. “Forgive me, Your Grace, not all of us happen to hunt our food down,” she muttered. From the way she’d said it, Rhaegar supposed she had not meant for him to hear.

What could he do other than challenge her upon the words though? “Indeed. Some of us,” he pointed out, “are yet small children unable to do anything by themselves. How do you breathe, I wonder.” Her scowl was reward enough. “I already said you’d learn and learn you shall.”

He sat down next to a long gone fire and she followed, her face still cast in annoyance. The glory of it nearly robbed him of speech. At the very least he would be entertained. She plopped down with none of the fine airs and graces she must have learned and with every bit of petulance one could gather in a single lifetime. The fish dropped between them. He simply cut one loose from the tight bound and threw it in her lap, ignoring the way she winced. Then he drew out a small knife and handed it to her, handle first.

Wide-eyed, she took the weapon. “If you try something,” he warned, “there will be consequences.” Lyanna scoffed.

“What will you do, beat me?” her drawl gave him pause. “I’m not a dolt.” He begged to differ. “Where would I go anyway? I don’t even know where we are.” Might be not a full on dolt then, Rhaegar decided with a small nod of condescending appreciation for her mental faculties. She held the knife over her fish and glared at him.

“Bring the blade to the gills,” he instructed, watching her hand move uncertainly. Did she fear cutting herself? “Press down gently and continue to push the blade lower.” It worked for all of two seconds before her pressure grew too strong and the knife slid into the tender meat of their meal. “Take it out and begin again.”

And she did, to her credit. However, her second slip up led to a rather deep cut into her index finger. She muttered a curse and brought her finger to her lips, sucking upon the wound, as her other hand pushed the fish away. “I cannot do this.” He suspected she was a lot less affected than she let on. The mischief in her eyes gave her away. Still, he did not say as much, but picked the knife and the fish.

“Look here,” he ordered. With quick movements he divested the poor fish of its every scale. Placing the knife between them, he pulled at her wrist, forcing her to release the abused finger. “You do the rest and do them well or else you’ll be eating those.”

It was quite enough that he’d not forced her to go on despite her small, insignificant hurt being nothing that might impede her. He watched her grimace and pick up the short knife, her other hand curling around the prospective dinner. She moved the creature around until it was positioned in a manner similar to what he had done and she raised it to hold against her middle. For one short moment, Rhaegar considered the potential of the blade slipping into her own flesh. But then he dismissed it. If she had to cut herself once or twice to learn a lesson, so be it.

Lyanna worked slowly on her task, diligent out of need rather than nature. She huffed in frustration every now and again when her blade missed and to his great amusement tried to bride the fish into keeping still as if the thing could actually help her. Instead, it slumped against her, a sad sight indeed. “This is the devil’s own work,” she said after a brief silence. Looking up and into his face, a frown came upon her. “Not only are you a monster, but you are a brute as well. Whoever said manner was bred in the bone clearly never met you.”

“Your Grace,” he corrected automatically, flashing her a thin smile. Lyanna started and glared. “I am Your Grace for you, Lady Lyanna. If I adhere to manners and call you by title, you should do the same.” The girl bristled and dumped the fish on the ground, picking up another one.

“I shall call you by that when pigs fly over the moon and the rivers run milk and the starts fall out of the sky and,” she floundered, losing the trails. “And,” Lyanna repeated, searching for some temporal indicator to suit her meaning.

“And hell freezes over,” he offered helpfully, moving in to hold up the fish.

“And on the twelfth of never,” she ground out, simply so as to not be outdone he imagined. Gods, how easy to goad she was. He was even starting to enjoy himself. “And ‘tis not considered courteous when one uses titles mockingly.”

“That is good to know, my lady,” Rhaegar said, emphasising the title. Her jaw worked subtly. His grin widened. How far could he push her? ”Now tell me, how is it exactly that good breeding is present in your bones?”

She snorted a second time. “You would not understand.” Rhaegar rather thought he did. His questioning gaze did not let up and she seemed to wither under its force. “If you must know, I have eight thousand years of good breeding.” Her chin rose slightly, as if in a challenge.

Struggling not to show his amusement, Rhaegar nodded his head. “Fascinating. Eight thousand years, you say?” Her teeth clenched. “I feel thoroughly ashamed now, my lady.”

“You should,” Lyanna snapped. “What manner of man attacks in the middle of the night and carries off innocents over the Wall and into savage lands? Have you no notion of honour? Of decency?” The flare was gone as quick as it had come and she gazed at him with slight weariness.

“Better my kind of honour than yours, woman,” he responded calmly. Confusion broke through. He did not clarify. “Your tongue is awfully sharp. Are you certain it does not need shortening?” Or at the very least an occupation.

She was done with the second fish she’d been working on. “Not to my knowledge.” Again with the muttering. How was he supposed to have a conversation when half her lines were spoken to the snow on the ground? “Where did you send Viserys?”

He considered not answering. After all, he owed her, of all people, no answer at all. “Are you worried, my lady? How uncommon. I thought wolves only kept to their pack.”

Pursing her lips, Lyanna sighed. “He is just a child. What manner of person would I be were I not worried?”

“A very foolish one, considering you are not likely to climb that throne without my brother.” She gasped and scrambled to her feet. Rhaegar instinctively reached out, grabbing a handful of her skirts to keep her from fleeing.

“If you insist on insulting me at every turn, I insist that you not speak to me again.” She swatted at her hand. Apparently, the woman was a tad slow. Without overly exerting himself, Rhaegar tugged on the material, causing her to lose her balance and tumble down.

“You forget to whom you speak.” This time he made certain she heard the sharp edge to his words. Her struggle to free herself slowly died away. “I will speak to you in whatever manner I deem fit and you’d be wise to understand now that all the whining in the world won’t keep you safe if you step above yourself.” Rhaegar pushed her away.

Laughter bubbled on her lips. “A traitor thinks to lecture me.” He could tell right away she’d not thought her words through. He could also tell right away that he would not forgive the outburst. With sudden speed, his fingers tangled in her hair and tugged, causing her to cry out. He stood and dragged her along. He drew her straight and tipped her head backwards.

“The only reason I let you live is because explaining to my brother why you are suddenly missing would cause too much of an uproar.” He felt her stiffen and heard her speak. “Gods, woman, do you have something in your mouth that prevents your from speaking clearly.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she wept, her own hands coming upon his, trying to pry his fingers loose.

He held her still. “You are not.”

“I’m not,” she agreed after one more moment. And he let go.

“You know nothing about anything.” She massaged her scalp, looking at him with newfound disquiet. “It would behoove you to keep silent and listen. Look around you. And then speak, if you must. But better yet, do not speak at all.”

Her shoulders dropped. She looked away, to the fish upon the ground. Without another word, she knelt in the snow and picked them up. Rhaegar saw her take the knife. She hesitated, enough to give rise to suspicion. Turning around she held the knife out to him, blade first. He reached out, fingers gingerly curling around the object.

It was then that Arthur returned, Viserys in tow, along with what appeared to be most of the men Rhaegar had taken with him. His little brother broke free from his friend’s grasp and hurtled headlong towards the she-wolf, knocking into her only to wrap thin arms around her.

She looked down at the boy and smiled, a soft curl of lips. “I’ll drop the fish if you don’t let go,” Lyanna warned, her mood still cheery. His poor brother could not see the strain behind the façade. Rhaegar could not care less about it.

Arthur gave him a nod and moved to his side as most of his men divided into small groups, settling about the circle of trees. He looked over Lyanna’s head, wondering if there was anyone else without. “What has she done now?” his friend questioned without a moment’s hesitation. “The milk doesn’t turn sour by itself.”

“I suppose not,” Rhaegar agreed, moving to sit down beneath a tree, watching his brother pester the woman for something. “Does she ever think before she speaks?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Rhaegar nodded. “If it be in matters of politics, aye. She’s too well trained in that to do otherwise. In anything else, she will say the first thing that comes to mind.” A malady of many a young lady, Rhaegar considered.

“Is there a cure in the kingdoms? I’ve been gone too long,” he groaned, leaning against the trunk. The shoulder he’d carried the belligerent creature on hurt.

“Usually good sense is beaten into them.” Arthur shrugged at the look Rhaegar was certain he sported. “I am not saying to beat her often.” But he was certainly not shying from making the suggestion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is that rope?” she questioned, dissatisfaction clear upon her face. “Where would I even run?” He had a campful of men and she was only one woman. Evading would have been impossibly difficult with only him, Dayne and the other. “Would it help if I promised not to leave?”

“You little fool. As far as I care, you could run off to wherever you wanted,” he let her know, yanking her ankle and pushing the skirts out of the way. “The men, however, might follow you.” She looked over his shoulder. His Wildings hadn’t done much other than look at her and whisper. But it was also true that Ser Dayne or Rhaegar had been close by. She gulped softly. “Good, you understand.”

“But if I am in danger, and I know it, why would I even think of leaving?” He gave her a flat stare in response to such a quandary. “I would never leave without Viserys.” She reached out for the slumbering child, curing the ease with which babes ignored danger.

“For all I know,” the man claiming to be saving her said, “you are one of those lunatics who roam the fields at night.” The rope cut against her skin. “Sit there and be quiet.”

He should sit there and be quiet. She’d been naught but since their less than civil conversation. Odious toad. He was worse than Benjen pulling a prank. Running through her list of insults with surprising speed, Lyanna wished she’d taken the chance to learn some other like words. The worse one she knew, she hesitated to use. Mostly on account of not being entirely certain what it meant. Might be she should test the limits. Drawing in a sharp breath, Lyanna opened her lips, just a fraction. “What are you doing?” she demanded when seeing him tie the other end of the rope around his wrist. She was to be a pet on a leash. She changed her mind, his hand on her rear was the second most demeaning treatment she’d received. And all in one day’s worth of work. “I am not a dog.”

“Clearly,” Rhaegar drawled. “You are a bitch. My bitch, as it so happens. I thought I told you to be quiet.” He pushed into her slightly, as if to make room for himself. How she loathed him. There was no word to describe how she felt. “Be good and go to sleep.” With that, he settled in his preferred position. Was she to be brushed away with such ease? As if she were a moody child chastised by an all-knowing parent?

“Or what?” she asked pointedly. “You’ll–“

“Beat you?” the infuriating man supplied. “Aye. If you keep asking, I might.” She kicked her foot into his leg and sucked her smile inwards at the intake of breath. “Do you want me to retaliate?”

“I pray you do not,” she said quietly, in her best regretful voice. “I was just trying to get comfortable.” She wondered how many more attempts she could have without him making good on the implied promise. With any luck, she’d leave him a few bruises to remember her by when her father’s men reached them. And they should be doing so soon. Lyanna refused to believe help was not on the way.

“Were you?” Clearly, he would sooner believe a confession of eternal devotion from her. Lyanna sighed. “Let me aid, my lady.” His elbow met her side. It was not enough to actually wound her, but the discomfort was there. Another thing she was learning was that the Wildling Prince had adapted very well to the society of the free folk. “Is that any better.”

“Much,” she replied tersely, wincing as she turned on her side. Her arms went around Viserys and she dragged him closer to her with gentle movements. Forcing herself to close her eyes, Lyanna ordered her body to ignore everything around it and fall into oblivion. It worked up until the point Rhaegar shifted, jostling her awake. Lyanna buried a groan deep in her throat and tried to move only to find a led-heavy limb pressing into her middle. She had thought it once and would probably continue to do so, but, by the gods, she hated the man.

Unfortunately for her, he seemed quite comfortable with torture. No matter how much she wiggled and pushed, she only managed to press closer into him, instead of getting away as she wished. Frustration mounting, Lyanna decided that if she could not sleep because of him, he deserved no better.

Thus, with the gentleness of a heard of stampeding aurochs, she tugged on his arm. He came to with a fierce curse the likes of which Lyanna had only heard from Brandon that one time he came back froth the brothels with mottled skin. Filing away the licentious language for later use, she concentrating on deflecting the annoyance she knew was coming.

“Buggering hells. What is it, woman?” Rhaegar hissed looking down at her.

She needed an excuse. The thought occurred to Lyanna as she gazed at him open-mouthed and mute at the same time. “I need to–“ she trailed off. “I have to go.” She gestured with her hand. Gods damn it. She didn’t need to. When he failed to connect the dots, Lyanna felt her whole face explode with heat. “I need to go,” she insisted urgently, pushing against his arm. That seemed to ring a bell, because he released her from the tight prison only to glare down at her.

“You need to make water?” She was fairly certain her face was the colour of freshly spilled blood. From anger, of course, at his callousness. “Could you not have said so?”

“A lady does not mention such–“

“A lady,” he chuckled. “Fine lady you are. Get up then.” She didn’t want to. It was warm.

How was she going to produce water out of nowhere escaped Lyanna. What did not escape her was the shamefulness of the rope chaining her to Rhaegar.

“Go there,” he pointed her to a tree.

Failing to understand how that would afford her any shred to privacy to pretend she was going about her business, Lyanna turned the heat of her glare upon him. “How am I supposed to go when you’re standing here? Untie me.”

“Unhand me. Untie me,” he mocked. “Go behind the tree. Gods, the sight of you would probably give me a lifetime of night terrors.”

Chagrined, Lyanna moved as he’d demanded, making her way behind the tree. At least he was not watching. There were gods, and they were smiling down upon Lyanna. Much relieved, she spent a few moments resting against the tree. When she deemed that enough time had passed, Lyanna made her way into the company of her captor. His glare pinned her to the spot.

“Would you mind explaining why you woke me up so you could take a walk?” Feigning confusion, Lyanna nodded towards the tree. “Aye, and I suppose your aim is perfect.” The confusion was starting to feel genuine. “There is, my lady, this constant companion we have, a mirror if you will.” He nodded towards the ground. Lyanna looked. She only saw her shadow.

Her shadow. Annoyance crashed into her. “I couldn’t sleep.” There, that was true. “You woke me up with your constant prodding.” He had the grace to look guilty, for just a moment. Or had he been embarrassed? Lyanna continued to stare at him. “Well?”

“What are you expecting from me?” he growled. “An apology for being a man?”

“Are you telling me that all men do this?” Affronted, she thought with some horror that one day she would wed and share a bed with a man. “It is certainly a good thing then that wives and husbands keep separate chambers.” He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. Lyanna could only shrug at that. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” He was still looking at her in that way.

“Going to apologise?” she clarified.

“For being a man?” Had he choked on that? Lyanna couldn’t be sure.

“And for waking me up.” That earned her a blistering glare.

“When pigs fly over the moon and the rivers run milk and the starts fall out of the sky and on the twelfth of never,” he succinctly put it, returning to her an earlier tirade.

“And when hell freezes over.” He cocked his head to the side. “You forgot your own saying.”

“How good you are to remind me,” he drawled, brushing a hand over his face. He looked pained.

“Aren’t I?” She beamed insolently up at him. Then the smile fell. “So am I then to not expect an apology?”

“Do not hold your breath, Lady Lyanna, is all I can say to that.” That was that then. She heaved another sigh.

“Are you–“

“Certain?” Rhaegar cut in. “I am. Perfectly.” He tugged on the rope. “If you don’t mean to kill the both of us, let us go now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have gone off the deep end...^^' I'm sorry for the record for making you all uncomfortable.
> 
> Sweet dreams...
> 
> ...if you can sleep. 
> 
> I think I should change the tags from tragedy to tragicomedy or asinine humour.


	5. Follies Of All Manners

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was still rubbing sleep from her eyes when the knight approached her. Lyanna stiffened and the sides of her mouth curved downwards. He did not seem to take exception to the reaction. “Keep close, my lady, we would not wish for any ill to befall you.” She hadn’t been skipping about exactly before, Lyanna considered, carefully pressing her fingers to the slightly raw skin covered by her dark skirts. Rhaegar had left long before she’d awoken, taking his rope along. Still, her skin felt the full effects of the earlier imprisonment.

“Forgive my scepticism, good ser, if I fail to treat your words with due awe.” She stood to her feet, stretching as far as she dared. Somehow the camp seemed emptier than it had been before. Lyanna looked about. Where was the child? Glancing at the Kingsguard, Lyanna considered asking him for aught to satisfy her curiosity over the development. “Do you not fear the King’s punishment?”

He settled an odd look upon her and seemed to silently consider her question. “When we were last in Winterfell, my lady, as I recall, your lord father forbade you from riding your brother’s stallion.” Lyanna remembered the nag. An ill-tempered creature, all kicking hooves and clamping teeth. Her brother had received it as a gift from Lord Ryswell and Lyanna had loved that horse the moment she laid eyes on it.. She nodded her head reluctantly. “And what was it that you did?”

“I sneaked out with Benjen. He was supposed to keep watch, you know?” The knight made no reply to that. “I truly did think I’d be able to tame the dratted beast.” What had actually happened was a sadder story. Lyanna was an accomplished rider and she had managed to mount the horse with some difficulty. Unfortunately for her, the massive animal was no palfrey the likes of which she’d ridden, but a charger with enough power to put even Brandon in a tight spot. Suffice to say that her little adventure ended up in disaster, with her sprawled on the ground, in a fair amount of pain. Her father had been none too pleased. The punishment was only to be expected.

“Did you not fear your father’s punishment?”The returned question gave her pause. She had not considered the punishment with great care, but she supposed she had feared it some. Lyanna nodded. “Then why do it?”

“Father said he was going to have it put down if he wasn’t tamed.” Where was he trying to get? Lyanna blinked slowly. “I was trying to save him.”

“And I am trying to save someone as well.” Understanding dawned upon her. Arthur Dayne had not planned to find himself without the kingdoms, but he was willing to do so in the name of friendship. The thought put her in a more tolerant mood.

“But ser, my brother’s steed was put down,” she pointed out. “What makes you believe the one you are trying to save will fare any better?”

His eyebrow rose at her inquiry, forming a perfect arch above his eye. If these men were not as infuriating as they were, Lyanna fairly feared her heart would be engaged. Scowling, she forced her mind onto unpleasant thought, spiders, Brandon returning from the whorehouse three sheets to the wind with a rowdy song on his lips, cold feet and such.

“Unlike you, my lady, I knew to first befriend him and only after try to save him. There is an order to it,” he mused and for the first time it seemed to her that he was actually trying to teach her something. “What good is a ship without sails?”

Deflating at the understanding, she gave a slow nod. “Is it true that he saved me when I was a child?” She would see about the sails at a later date, for the time being, her steps needed to guide her to safety.

“I was not with him, but I heard it to be the case.” Once more she nodded, unable to do much else in the face of his frankness. There was something to be said about the strange manner in which her heart pounded. “Were I you, I’d hope he finds something of that girl.”

“Are you trying to help me?” He did not answer. “You are.” Her face morphed with the moment’s lightness. “How did he save me?”

“That I do not know. You should ask him, if you wish for an answer.” Despite being somewhat pleased at her new discoveries, Lyanna was nowhere near ready to engage Rhaegar in such a discussion. Might be when she’d assured herself she would not end up with her hair shorn if she dared question him.

Thus she declined Arthur’s solution and stretched her arms out. “I needn’t an answer right now. Where is everyone?” A chance of subject would allow her some time to think upon the matter and decide whether she wished to know what he’d spoken about at any rate.

Nodding towards a line of trees, Arthur gave her a clear answer, “They’ve gone to catch fish. And I have come to fetch you.” He’d left her alone? Horror struck her. It must have shown because the knight responded with a lopsided grin. “Shall we go?”

With a numb nod, Lyanna followed him through the softly crunching snow down the narrow path until he brought them both to the riverside. A little ways from their position a group of men was standing. Lyanna recognised Rhaegar from the first, but the other faces blurred together. And he saw her too, because the conversation drew to a halt and the circle broke, leaving only him and another man. Rhaegar said something to him and he nodded, taking his leave before she was five steps away from them.

“No fish?” she asked, squaring her shoulder and marshalling her courage in one arrogant raise of the chin. “You must have frightened them away.” Glancing towards the surface of the water, Lyanna took note if the thin layer of ice. “What shall we do now, of fearless leader?”

“Woman, there were swarms before you arrived. Methinks ‘tis not a coincidence. It was that shrill voice. The fish must have heard it rolling over the hills.” The geographical impossibility of his description earned him a gasp.

“I see Pycelle was as sharp a decade past as he is now,” she quipped mercilessly. “Have you no eyes to see the perfectly stretching flatlands around us?”

It was his turn to snort and look from her to Arthur. “I don’t expect that you’ve managed to find any manner of solution to our dilemma.” Lyanna suspected Arthur of nodding, for Rhaegar heaved a sigh. “Is there aught you can do, woman, beside running your mouth and driving a man to despair?”

“I can take the scales off a fish,” she replied proudly, not about to be cowed by his insensitive manner. For someone who had pulled her hair and acted the child, he could sure act high and mighty. “But since there’s no fish in sight, I could try aught similar with you. All that unnecessary weight above your shoulders must be impeding your though process.”

“All that weight above my shoulders is what’s keeping you alive, my lady,” he returned, waving Arthur away. He went without a second thought, leaving only the two of them. “You’d best beg the gods no ill befalls it.”

“To be sure, I shall. It will come just after the daily request of not being afflicted by the plague and before a plea for the Iron Bank to hand me gold.” Those were just as likely to happen, she figured. A small smile graced her lips as she waited for his retaliation.

“Plague and gold, is it? There are worse positions, I suppose. Although, my lady, it must be said we’ve not had a plague recently. You should pray further raiding parties fail to find you,” he deadpanned.

As if the gods wished to mock them both, for Lyanna would never encourage in herself a belief that the gods sought to make her life difficult, something moved on the other side of the river. Both of them glanced in the general direction of the source. However, there was little to be seen. Rhaegar inched before her, tensing slightly as a low whistle sounded through the trees. Eyes widening, Lyanna let out a startled sound when without so much as falter, a body came flying towards them, jumping over the river as if it were a piece of string. She stumbled backwards, catching on to a tree as the attacker crashed into Rhaegar sending them both to the ground.

“He’s not alone,” she cried out as other members of the presumably same group filed out from behind the trees. But it was not as if the Wildling Prince wound answer. He was rather preoccupied. Lyanna winced as a blow fell upon his middle. She heard the intake of breath and considered, for one wild moment, running away. She could make it through the trees.

Something flashed in the weak sunlight. Instinctively, her body reacted by bringing her closer to danger, fingers forming a tight fist which she used to deliver a painful blow to the back of the attacker’s head. A life for a life, she told herself. Now she would not feel as if she owed him anything. Her exercise in debt paying was met with half success as the assailant was momentarily distracted and Rhaegar threw him off.

Alas, no good deed went unpunished in her life. In possession of a perfectly respectable set of lungs, Lyanna put them to hood use with a high-pitched howl as someone grabbed the back of her kirtle, lifting her above ground. What was it will all these people able to fling her around as if she were a piece of string. Incensed, Lyanna struggled against the odious grip, strangely thankful to see and recognise one of Rhaegar’s men as the fellow dashed through the trees. He was soon joined by the entire hoard.

Her own fortune, however, was a tad more complicated as her captor, instead of letting her go, was attempting to pull away from the fray and onto calmer grounds, no doubt with some vile intentions in mind. Remembering the much needed advice Ned had given her once she’d plied him with wine, Lyanna allowed her body to go slack. The more she weighed, the slower he’d move. The sudden drop of weight disturbed his balance, sure enough. Silently celebrating her victory, Lyanna ordered herself to keep still as she was once again allowed to feel solid ground beneath her feet. She was whirled around, brought face to face with quite possibly the ugliest man she’d ever seen. Aesthetic considerations aside, Lyanna brought up her knee, ramming it into the man.    

An arm slid underneath hers, forcing it to move in sync and then fall away. It circled her just beneath her chest area and pulled her into a warm body. “Hold still.” She did, eyes upon the blade coming from the other side, embedding itself into the assailant.

And then she was being dragged by the arm, Rhaegar cutting enemies left and right. Someone tried to grab a handful of her skirts, but she brought down her heel upon the insolent wretch. Rhaegar brought her to stand between him and Ser Dayne, from which vantage point she was able to make out much of what transpired. The rush of adrenaline shook her whole frame, further agitating her. But there was not much she could do without a weapon, so Lyanna simply watched the Prince and the knight, clearing a path through the scads of enemies. They worked so in sync one should think of them as sharing one brain.

Before long, their opponent began a hasty retreat. That left only a few injured of their own about and a slightly disgruntled Lyanna, when she realised the debt she’d just repaid had only thrown her headfirst into another debt. Certainly the alternative was less than palatable, but knowing that she’d have to endure Rhaegar’s smugness only made matters worse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was trembling all over, the heavy dark dress creased and rumpled from her misadventure. Rhaegar allowed himself to look her over once, just to make sure she wasn’t about to fall face-first in a heap of snow. But she did not seem worse for wear. Flinching light at his approach, Lyanna scowled lightly. “It does my heart good to see your cheerful disposition unaffected,” he quipped.

Her frown deepened and she pointed towards him. “You’re injured.” He looked to where she pointed.

“That’s not a wound, woman,” he sighed in mock-exasperation. It was merely a cut, long and slim, not even deep enough to cause an abundance of blood to spill. “Worried you’d be left to fend for yourself?”

“My only worry is that I would have to show gratitude should you die attempting to guard me,” she snapped back at him, hands on her hips. He grinned down at her, stepping closer, close enough that his leg brushed against the fall of her skirts.

“You should be showing gratitude now,” Rhaegar pointed out. “It was not for my own sake I fought, you know.” She was still trembling, her body shaking lightly. Was she aware of it, he wondered. If he concentrated hard enough, Rhaegar was sure he could hear her heart beating and the blood rushing through her veins. “So, will you?”

“Show gratitude?” Why did she sound incredulous to his ears? “I would have been perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

“It did not look it from where I was standing.” Her hand was already moving towards the cut. “Admit it, you could not have won that fight.”

“You must have very poor eyesight.” Her fingers touched the split skin. “I’ll clean this for you, if you wish.” Somehow, the idea of it did not sit ill with him. Rhaegar considered that his wits might have taken a ferocious blow earlier and that he was not thinking clearly. Might be hers as well. His failure to reply attracted her censure. “Well, shall I, or would you rather we stood here until nightfall?”

“Get on with it then.” She rolled her eyes at his answer and guided him towards a wide, flat stone. He sat down more for her benefit than his own, although seeing her scurry about was certainly a sight he could grow used to. Dayne was at his side before long.

“You trust her with this?” he nodded towards the cut. There was no apparent worry in his voice, as his friend was more than capable of concealing it when he so wished, but Rhaegar supposed that if he would worry over another’s wounds he would do the same. For an answer, he gave a soft nod.

“I’m watching her, aren’t I?” She was kneeling by the riverbank, cracking open the thin layer of ice. “Do you suspect malice?” Arthur shook his head. “There you have it then. We’ll be leaving soon. Collect my brother, won’t you?” And Dayne left him to his solitude and the sight of a kneeling Northerner.

Lyanna returned with a strip of cloth and grabbed hold of his arm. She turned it over so she could reach the cut. A tasking sound left her lips. “Look at all these scars.” There were only two or three. “Do you ever take care of your wounds or is everything a mere cut to you?”

“If you wish to nag me to an early grave, you’ll have to give something of equal import in return,” he warned. At her befuddled look, Rhaegar clarified. “Your worry is more becoming of a wife than of a captive.”

The woman snorted. “Worry? For you? That’s be the day.” Without warning she began shoving his sleeve upwards. It dragged over the wound.

“I don’t recall giving you leave to husk me like an ear of corn,” he spoke, causing her to falter. Her lips twisted in a fair impression of a grimace. “You keep stepping above yourself. What am I to do with you, Lady Lyanna?”

“Return me to my family?” The hopeful note in her voice gave him to believe she’d thought his question a serious one. He would enjoy crushing that hope. As such, Rhaegar took a few moments before answering her.

“I think now, woman. If I returned you now, what would they say of me?” He caught her chin between his fingers, holding her head up. “Unscathed and without any sign of suffering; why they’ll think I’ve done a poor job of keeping my prisoners.”

She pulled away from his grasp and wrapped her fingers around his arm tightly. Blood bubbled over from the cut. “What a cad you are,” Lyanna observed, washing at it. “And you are enjoying this too, aren’t you?”

“Being injured?” He moved in to hold one end of the ribbon for her as she began wrapping it around the cut. “Not particularly. I suspect I would enjoy this more if I could witness your bedside manner.”

Levelling him a dry glance, Lyanna took the end from his fingers. “The funeral would be splendid. In for no other reason, then because there’s so much wood in these parts. I’ve never witnessed that sort of funeral.”

“What a morbid little mind you have,” he considered out loud. “You shall be disappointed then to know that I don’t easily.”

Laughter bubbled on her lips. “Nor should I expect it of you. Men such as yourself live a long full life. I’ve always suspected that it’s because they so enjoy tormenting others. It gives them energy to carry on.”

“Is that what you hope to achieve by nagging me?” he questioned unabashedly.

“Heavens nay,” Lyanna muttered, finished with her tying. “But I hope you live long enough for one of my brothers to find you.” She smiled sweetly up at him. “They never did take well to those endangering their sister.”

He could not help but chuckle at her. “I’ve not endangered you yet. Believe me, when I do, you will know.” Her eyes narrowed in a heavy glare.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. To Deeper Scars And Greater Scares

 

 

 

 

 

 

Viserys ran into their path, an eager little boy with a wide smile upon his face. Lyanna’s heart gave a gentle quiver at the sight. While it could not be said he’d ever been a sullen child, there had definitely always been a cloud hanging above him. How much of it had to do with the strictures of court life and how much with the dissatisfactions endured, she had never thought to ask, as in spite of all that the boy always has a small smile to offer. But to see him truly overjoyed was new even for her.

Rhaegar caught him one handed and hoisted him up, seemingly not minding the loud squeals. “Come to greet us, have you?” he asked, amusement colouring his voice. “Did I not leave you in Dayne’s care?”

Looking ahead, there was no sign of Arthur, but Lyanna trusted he was near by, thus she concentrated on Jon’s words. “There is danger now. I do not need Ser Dayne when there is no danger.” The perfect logic of his statement was met with a good-natured grin. “And if I’m with you, there is no danger at all. Mother always said so.”

The man froze for a split-second. There was something in his face, a flash that passed so fast, Lyanna was uncertain it was even true and not some figment of the imagination. Viserys certainly did not take notice of it as he spoke. It looked to her like pain, not the manner of physical ache translating into grimaces or deep frown. Rather it was an acknowledgement of an open wound that had yet to stop bleeding.

“Did she now?” Rhaegar sought confirmation. Lyanna dismissed possible disbelief simply on account of his earlier reaction. “Did mother speak to you of me? Often, was it?”

“Aye,” Viserys offered without hesitation, wiggling into a more secure position. “Almost all the time.” Then he frowned. “Just never around father.” Lyanna watched for some sort of reaction at the mention of the King, but this time Rhaegar kept his countenance. He seemed almost serene, deliberately thus. Viserys hesitated, his mouth opening to form words. “Did you and father have a quarrel?”

Alert, Lyanna listened to the answer. “Aye. I suppose you can put it like that. We had a very bad quarrel.” It was rather difficult to satisfy any ounce of curiosity with the evasiveness of such an answer. The quarrel must have been monstrous for the King to declare his own son a traitor.

“Is that why you left?” This time there had been no hesitation. Give Viserys an inch and he would take a mile. Lyanna smiled at his easy manner. “Mother is very sad. She never says so, but I think she wishes you would come back.”

That struck her as odd. While Lyanna had heard quite by chance that the oldest son of the King had been declared a traitor and sent away, she had never heard the explanation for it. She’d just assumed it had been the correct decision. But one had to pause and consider that it might not be that simple. Trusting that Viserys knew his mother, the comment could have little other implications but that the King had not been entirely right in his decision. At least not in the Queen’s mind.

“We will go home, nay?” the child questioned after a short pause in which no answer had been given.

“In due time.” Why that should sound less than pleasant to Lyanna’s ears was a mystery. However, the way in which he’d said it scared her. As if he were plotting aught. “But first I believe you wished to tell something to your Lady Lyanna.” Drat him, he was deliberately avoiding answering in any meaningful way.

And poor Viserys fell for the ruse. He looked at her over his shoulder and grinned with enthusiasm. “Guess what I just learned,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. Lyanna shrugged and shook her head, telling him without words that she could not. “I learned how to fish. My brother taught me.” The second bit was accompanied by a quick glance towards Rhaegar. “And I caught so many fish.”

“How wonderful,” she responded with much feeling. The boy deserved to be pleased with himself. “And how many fish did you catch?”

“This many.” He held up both hands, all ten fingers splayed out for her perusal.

Lyanna could not help but giggle at that. “That many? Truly? All on your own?” She supposed it was better to have the child make small talk than get in an argument with the man.

Viserys shook his head. “My brother helped. And Ser Dayne too. Isn’t it great?” It certainly was, just not for her hands. Lyanna could feel her fingers tingling with phantom pain. “And I am also to learn how to hunt game.”

That was not the most welcomed of news. Still, Lyanna gave a soft nod and a gentle smile. “I am sure before long you’ll be the best hunter there wherever was.” Flattery earned her a smile. Rhaegar finally put Viserys down as they were in sight of the camp.

Or rather what was left of it. Lyanna took the boy by the hand and walked to where Ser Dayne was, sitting solitarily beneath a tree. “There is no sun here,” she let him know, releasing Viserys. “Have you yet to learn that?”

He cocked his head to the side but denied her a reply. Instead, Arthur looked towards Rhaegar. They seemed to communicate in mere stared. And Lyanna had thought it to be the stuff of song and verse. “We have a long walk had of us. Best you save your breath.”

“Walk?” She frowned. Walking was an aright exercise in small doses, but somehow she got the feeling Dayne was not speaking of such walks. “Exactly how long a walk?”

“I am unfamiliar with the territory. But Rhaegar assures me there is quite the distance to cross.” That did not sound good. Lyanna envisioned herself walking until her feet were bloody and she fell into a snowbank. “This is not the kingdoms, my lady.” Viserys wandered away.

“Nay. I did not think it was.” But a couple of horses would not have been amiss. “What of Viserys? He is unused to such long journeys. Especially on foot.” Certainly he was excited at the moment and would likely keep to that mood for a little while longer, but to expect that he might male the journey without complaint was unrealistic.

But Arthur Dayne did not seem concerned. He gave an easy shrug. “Come, we are moving.” Lyanna looked over her shoulder at his words. Seeing little alternative, she allowed the knight to turn her around and guide her upon the path. Keeping close to him, Lyanna waited until they’d reached Rhaegar and Viserys to address the older sibling.

“Do you have no horses with you?” she demanded without preamble.

Rhaegar gave her a curious look and shook his head. “Have you ever seen a horse scale the Wall, my lady?” It was her turn to shake her head. “Good. Neither have I. I was told it was quite impossible.”

“You expect your brother to make this journey on foot. It might have slipped your mind, but Princes don’t walk.” Unless for a turn about the gardens. But that did not count. She continued staring at him, expecting that sooner or later he would reveal some mode of transport, preferably on four legs.

All she got for her trouble, however, was an assurance that Viserys could make it, which was doubled by the child’s nod, and a slightly amused smile, “Never fear, if you happen to collapse, I’ll just carry you the rest of the way.”

Her first reaction comprised of a loud short. “I should hope not. Just leave me there to freeze,” Lyanna replied unthinkingly.

Viserys gasped. “But your fingers will go black and fall off,” he declared with all the naivety of the child he happened to be. Aye, she’d known that. Lyanna had the strange and equally inappropriate desire to look at her fingers and count them. “You cannot wish for that.” The very fact that he was in earnest produced a stifled chuckle from Ser Dayne and an unrepentant grin from his older brother. Lyanna was satisfied with a long-suffering sigh.

“It won’t be as bad as all that, Lady Lyanna. I promise you that at least. I know my way around she-wolves.” He had the gall to look her up and down at that, equal parts innocence and mischief. If she thought she could get away with it, she would have hit him to kingdom come.

Fortunately for him, he was saved from her wrath by Viserys’ fancy being struck by a tree. Turning to glance disapprovingly towards the knight at her side, Lyanna held back the desire to smack him as well. What was it with these men and their inability to keep a straight face in the face of legitimate concerns?

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was frozen in place, looking with wide eyes to the gaping crevice. “What are you doing?” Rhaegar questioned, looking at her over his shoulder. If she was trying to deliberately slow them down, he would give her a good reason to run ahead as fast as she could. But the woman offered no answer. Her eyes were fixed on the cave’s entrance, not moving from the overwhelming darkness even as Viserys took her by the hand, trying to get her to move.

“Afraid of a little darkness?” he teased, turning fully around, crossing the distance between them in three long strides. “Viserys, go ahead with Arthur. We’ll catch up.” Up close, her skin was waxen even in the weak evening light and she looked about ready to cast her accounts. He took a step back cautiously as his brother reluctantly left the she-wolf for the knight. “Are you going to answer me?”

“No one said aught of caves,” Lyanna offered in a small voice after a few moments, as the last of his men had entered the engulfing blackness. She jumped backwards, swift as a doe, when he reached for her. “Can’t you see I need a moment, oaf?” It seemed that whatever ailed her hadn’t worked to soften her tongue any. There was still hope.

Without making the mistake of startling her a second time, he gently reached out, palm upwards, sliding it just beneath her elbow and making a grab for it. Fingers clamped on the cloth covered limb. Lyanna tried to shake him off, her own hand coming to pry his fingers away. “What are you doing?”

“Making certain you do not get carried off in your moment,” Rhaegar answered simply. Once she’d accepted the futility of her struggle she returned to her previous state. “Are we going to stand here until nightfall? ‘Tis more dangerous at the mouth of the cave than within.”

“Give me a moment,” the she-wolf requested yet again, not caving in to his attempt to pull her towards the fissure. She dug her heels in and pulled backwards. “Better yet, go on without me.”

“I know you Starks believe the wolves to be kin, but I will tell you now, girl, they are not. Do you wish to become their meal?” The hand resting on his arm moved. Slim fingers twitched. She shook her head. “Are you looking to freeze to death then?” Again she denied such desires. “Could it be that you believe yourself capable to find the way back to the Wall?” Lyanna hesitate, then gave a shake of the head, her expression miserable. “Then what is it?”

“I cannot do this.” Torn, that was what she was. Rhaegar focused on her face for a split-second, then looked towards the cave. She must have taken that for a desire to hear an explanation. “It looks as though it would be a narrow space. A narrow, dark space. I will not go in.”

“Good gods,” he muttered under his breath, beginning to understand. “You have never had a lover, I reckon. Had you one, you would know that narrow, dark spaces are quite possibly the best.” Her breath rolled out in a thin mist. “Are you afraid when you close your eyes?”

“Nay.” It upset her something force, the thought of going within, Rhaegar decided, if she was too upset to even call him out on his teasing. But there it was. “It’s not the dark that frightens me. I’m no babe to cry at the sight of shadows.”

“This is the only way.” The only way he was willing to take anyway and he’d be damned before he changed routes for the whiny brat of Lord Stark. “And you will take this road.” She reared at his command. “Even if I have to make you.”

She shook her head frantically, trying even harder to break away from him. “Please, do not.” Her breathing grew laboured. He’d never seen such a reaction, save for once in his youth from a knight returning from battle. What could have possibly inspired such a reaction in her?

“Close your eyes,” he snapped after she’d pulled hard enough to do at least one of them injury. She in turn snapped into stillness and glared at him. Rhaegar was willing to bet she was thinking of all the reasons for which he should not be able to order her. “Close your eyes, my lady,” he said in a gentler manner. “It’s either that or a less pleasant alternative.”

Her glare intensified. “Isn’t there a third option?” Now she was truly reaching.

“Either you close your eyes, or I close them for you. At least one of these choices will rob you of dignity.” She sputtered. Gods, but she sure knew how to make his head pound. And not pleasantly.

“You are the one robbing me of dignity,” she spat at him. “If you choose to do so, it’s on you.” But she did like to fight him tooth and nail. Rhaegar wondered if it was aught she’d been taught in her home. Somehow that seemed unlikely.

“I do not wish to. But I will if I have to, despite not enjoying it.” He held her gaze. At least she had calmed down enough to argue. All the better if he was to convince her. “So, I would say, my lady, that the choice is entirely yours.” A heavy burden fitting the frailty of her shoulders.

“You lie as easy as you breath. We both know you would enjoy it tremendously.” Her huff of indignation followed close behind the accusatory words. “Have the decency to not demean my mental faculties.” She took a deep breath. “What will you do, if I close my eyes?”

Deciding against confirming her suspicions, that in fact he would enjoy it, but not nearly as much as she supposed it, Rhaegar released her arm. “You know the answer to that. I shan’t demean your mental faculties, was it, by giving a long, drawn-out explanation.” Her shoulders sagged. “Keep your eyes closed. The darkness down not frighten you, after all, does it?”

“Nay.” Her agreement was half-hearted at beat. At worse, it was coercion. But Rhaegar supposed that like all other captives, she would live with doing something she did not wish to. Her shaking resumed, as she closed her eyes for him. “Tell me what you are doing?” She was not ordering him, for once. He could grow used to that.

“I am putting you over my shoulder.” And sure enough, he’d knelt before her, one arm going behind her knees, lifting her in the air. Her hands searched for purchase, one of them landing on his shoulder. “Easy or we’ll both take a tumble and crack our heads.” She would crack hers at any rate, as he had no desire to protect her should they fall.

“Must you carry me as if I were a sack of grain? Where is the dignity I was promised?” And the harpy returned. Rhaegar jostled her lightly, on account of her demeanour.

“I never claimed this would be the choice to afford you dignity. Would you rather be insensible and at my mercy?” She stiffened and growled softly. “I thought so. Remember to keep your eyes closed.”

“Do not fret, I shall.” He was certain she would. Rhaegar turned towards the entrance of the cave and stepped towards it. The weight of her was no more comfortable than it had been before. “Is the walk a long one?”

“Long enough,” he answered unfeelingly. And by the end of it his shoulder would not be thanking him, although his back was pressed rather pleasantly against the woman. Prickly and high up her horses as she was, Lyanna did have a pleasantness about her form. Now if only he could focus on that and not her knife of a tongue.

Leaning against one of the walls, Rhaegar fumbled for a torch as he adjusted Lyanna. He grabbed it from the sconce and began walking, fully intending to catch up to the rest of his men. Dayne was a single individual and as skilled as he was, Rhaegar did not trust a harried, sleep-deprived and half-starved fellow to do come out unscathed of a fight. And Viserys would suffer for that.

“Where does this lead to?” Lyanna distracted him from his thoughts, moving into his hold. She was not trying to fight him though, so Rhaegar let her be.

“There is a tall hill on the other side, sloping down towards a village nested in a valley. We make trade there.” He could feel her unease and his mind shifted through the possible explanations. “Never fear, maiden, I do not plan to sell you.”

“Wouldn’t you gain a pretty coin out of it?” Now she chose the moment not to trust him. “Girls are sold to brothels everyday. This is no different.”

“The best brothels choose their clientele,” he pointed out. “I doubt you would have the luxury here. But you are in luck as there are no brothels here. Besides, I mean to keep you for myself.”

His declaration was met with silence and a twitch of a movement. Then, “I think I prefer the brothels.” There was something tentative about the way she’d said it.

“Have you ever been to one?” That started her enough to produce a gasp. Of indignation, he imagined. Rhaegar waited for her answer as he turned with the road.

“What manner of question is that?” She was up in arms. “You should know very well I would never be allowed to step foot in such a place.” Nay, certainly not as the daughter of the Warden of the North. “And why should I want to?”

“So you’d know your alternatives.” That gave her pause. She stopped fidgeting. “And if we are to speak on things one is not allowed to do, you should not even know what a brothel is.” Then again, some things were inevitable and unavoidable when one had two older brothers as far as Rhaegar knew. “Who is to be offered gratitude for your thorough education, I wonder.” Something flickered in the distance. Good, they were getting closer.

“That lover you mentioned,” she deadpanned, the manner of her reply causing him to falter she he’d been quite concentrated on it. When she did not follow the words up with aught else, he was left to wonder at the validity of her claim. She could be jesting. But as his brother was a child, she could be in earnest as well.

“You ought to be more careful of those lips of yours,” he chided without feeling. “ I hope you know to whom you speak.”

“Aye, I know. I am speaking to a veritable troll from the songs. You ogre. Must you try my patience?” At the very least she was back to herself. Rhaegar congratulated himself for a job well done. He had no patience to nurse an ill tempered she-wolf back to health, nor could he deal with her in a state of hysteria or very near so. She unnerved him enough as it was.

“Is that how you show gratitude? So much like your father.” He realised only too late what he’d said.

Lyanna grew taut against him. “You say that as if you have a bone to pick with him, with me. What manner of insult have I dealt you?” What he ought to do was put her down and in no uncertain terms tell her exactly what sort of man her father was. Rhaegar kept walking. “Tell me.”

“I shall. I shall tell you all of it. But not now.” She leaned harder against him.

“Why?” Such a simple question. And yet the answer would not come. “At the very least I should know what I stand accused on in your eyes. Won’t you give me that?”

He waited, the flickering ahead of them growing stronger. If he waited too long they would be within hearing range. “Treason.”

“And whom did I betray?” Such stubbornness. If he were not tempted to strange her, he would be impressed. But Lyanna did not let up and he sensed she would not unless his answer provided her with a reason.

So he said, “Me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don't know if this chapter passes muster, as I've been a bit out of it. But Lyanna and Rhaegar continue to antagonise one another and in doing so uncover bits and pieces of each other. I hope this isn't moving along too fast.


	7. The Real World

 

 

 

 

 

 

The village was a gathering of seven or so mud huts. The half buried dwellings were joined by a long, rectangular building which Rhaegar insisted served as the main hall. But Lyanna merely shook her head at that. A main hall, aye, for the swine to eat within might be. The wood, in its glory days might be even garnished with some mixture of oil and colour, now stood a deep black, the sight of it reminiscent of pitch. The bloated surface was sprinkled with cracks, some as thin as a hair, other wider and deeper. She almost feared going within, lest some rat came running at her.

“I cannot believe this is the entire population of a village.” Northerner villages were among the smallest in the kingdoms. Lyanna had visited a village proper just once in her life, but even there she’d found at least a score of houses.

“This is the dwelling ground of the elderly,” Rhaegar told her, pointing towards one of the huts. “See that on the roof?” The thatched rood bore upon it a strange metal piece wrought in a contorting shape. She nodded at the inquiry. “That used to be a weapon. Once its master could no longer wield it, they melted it along with his body and the remnants were placed there.”

It took a moment for her to understand, but when she did, a horrified gasp left her lips. “Are you saying there are bones up there?” Shuddering at the thought of bare bones, Lyanna’s eyes narrowed upon the lone figure. “Why would anyone–“

“Not many,” he assured her calmly, as if speaking about the weather. “If I recall correctly, there’s still a rib up there.” Her stomach rolled in protest. “The skull they crushed under a heavy rock.” Her innards twisted even harder. “That’s the fate of the dead here, my lady.”

“It is by no means a fate one should wish for,” she whispered, eyes darting back to the melted weapon head. “Why is it only elderly folk who live here?” She grabbed onto his arm as the thin layer of ice beneath them quivered.

Rhaegar steadied her with one arm, calling after his brother not to run. “They are brought here by their kinsfolk once they are no longer able to hunt for themselves.” Old age was a curse all men had to endure. Lyanna thought upon it a moment, eyesight failing, joints stiffening, hearing failing; her mind went to old Maester Aemon at the Wall. She imagined him for a moment, exposed to such harshness as the one she was witnessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

“This means they will die,” she rebelled, heart lurching painfully at the inevitable outcome of such actions. “If they cannot hunt, then there is no food. And what of fire in the night. Is starvation or deadly frostbite the reward for a live well-lived? Their kin should be ashamed.” A few heads turned towards them, no doubt wondering at the heated tone of voice, but Lyanna was too incensed to care. “This is nothing short of barbaric.” She was not about to claim that the kingdoms’ dwellers were much better, but at least even the meanest of them kept a roof over the heads of their parents in their old age.

The Prince shook his head and took her by the arm, pulling her closer. “Your anger shan’t change thousands of years of practice. These are the rules here, my lady. You can follow them, or you can keep to yourself and in the end perish. I liked it no more than you when I first came here, yet once your anger is spent, you will see this if for the best.” Sputtering, Lyanna swiped at his hand. How could he say that? “These people are certainly used to it and prepared to weather the existence. They’ve no need of you and I to worry over them.” He let go and continued to walk.

On the contrary, they did need someone to worry over them, as their family apparently were not expected to do so. Bristling, Lyanna stomped after Rhaegar, wet snow squelching under the soles of her shoes. She said naught further to him, sensing that whatever words she offered they would be met with much the same argument. Yet just because something was a custom, it did not mean one had to accept the practice without argument. She would see what she could do to help before she was whisked away.

With that in mind, Lyanna paused and looked about the seemingly abandoned huts. Something crashed within the long hall and out came a bent and stooped old woman. She greeted one of Rhaegar’s men with much affection and groused something in that unfamiliar harsh tongue of theirs. Concluding that it was the woman’s son or even grandson, Lyanna turned her gaze away. Might be the rest of them were within the wooden structure. She turned to Rhaegar to ask, but he was no longer at her side.

“Where is–“ she addressed Ser Dayne who ungallantly interrupted.

“Went within.” The knight pointed towards the long hall. Viserys was glancing about with much curiosity, pulling on Arthur’s hand to have something or another explained to him.

Not waiting to be taken notice of, Lyanna slipped away from the two and followed Rhaegar. The entrance to the hall did not have a door, but instead a sort of shroud, made of thick hides sewn together. She lifted it and stepped within, gaze searching for the King’s son. And he was not difficult to find. Given that there were only three other persons, it was the easiest task.

Rhaegar looked over his shoulder and gave her a harsh stare, as if to shoo her back to her place. The weak light from without cast long shadows upon the walls, making him seem almost frightening. Lyanna stood her ground though. She walked towards him with even steps and proceeded to ignore the signs of his confusion. “I want to learn.”

A flash of scepticism passed over his features, but he nonetheless gave a nod and turned back to his conversation. She understood not a word but by the chuckle of the other men, she supposed he had somehow explained her presence with a quip. Holding back a scowl, Lyanna breathed in deeply and prayed the gods for patience. “And for that I need to understand what is being spoken.”

“You’re a dogged little thing, aren’t you?” he demanded, not even looking at her. “If you really wish to know, we are trading fish for elk. There, my lady, you have your answer.”

“But you said they did not hunt.” She looked from one man to the other and then to the third. They were all gazing at her with undisguised curiosity. It struck her that they had the same eyes her father had. A light grey, almost misty in its quality, a colour of the old North her mother used to say. Old Nan would speak of the warriors of the First Age, men and women of incredible height and earthen colourings but for their eyes. Shaking her head free of the memory, Lyanna dipped her head gently.

One of them commented, gesturing towards her languidly, fingers splaying out slowly. Rhaegar chuckled and responded. Lyanna was not certain she wanted to know what he’d said. But she asked anyway. The Prince offered an amused smile, “He said you are very small and you’ll likely find childbed difficult.”

Struck dumb, Lyanna blinked a few times down at Rhaegar. Then her face grew red. With fury, she told herself. But before she could assure him that the thought of her during childbed, or during any bed involving a bed was naught he should worry about, her mouth ran with a very different answer. “My mother gave my father four healthy children and she was even smaller than I.” By an inch, to be sure, but Lyanna would not admit to that. Still, she challenged Rhaegar to say aught to that.

“Aye, I recall.” The agreement, unexpected as it was, produced an approving nod from her. “Small little thing she was, just like you, but better behaved.” He grinned and seemed to wait for her retort.

“You knew my mother?” For a moment she’d forgotten about his claim to have saved her. “But of course you should, if you rescued me as you say you have.”

“Why are you speaking for the past?” His expression had turned pensive.

And naturally he was unaware of her ultimate fate. “She died, a year past now.” Careful to keep any emotion from her voice, Lyanna watched for his reaction, but instead of gratifying her, Rhaegar looked away, leaving no trace of aught which she might interpret.

He continued his conversation, this time with an slight edge to his voice. For all that, it seemed the four of them were in agreement as they all stood. Lyanna felt something move against her waist and snapped a glance towards the Prince. “Don’t make a fuss,” he simply said, nodding towards the other three.

The old woman she’d seen before entered the dimly lit hall and upon seeing the two of them, she exchanged words with her own people. Delight crossed her features and she spoke loud and clear. Rhaegar sighed softly, almost imperceptibly, but being so close to him, Lyanna felt it against her own person. The crone approached them and took Lyanna by the hand, still speaking words she could not understand. Led by the woman, she found herself before a tableful of strange little objects. A few she recognised as crude combs and even a long hairpin. Other looked to be necklaces, but their length was as such that one would have to wrap them around the neck over and over again until either death by choking was reached or the most artful display of beads. She looked at Rhaegar questioningly.

He moved slowly until he’d reached her, his front almost touching her back. “Choose one of those,” he pointed towards the rows of beads.” Lyanna’s eyes lingered upon the colourful spheres in wonder. She had seen finely worked silver and beautifully crafted gold, copper poured into practical items and hard iron for weaponry. But she had yet to see aught like what he showed her. There was little in the way of extravagance that the beads displayed, but the simply, mute elegance of the assemblement was touching. In the same way the signing of children was touching. She reached out, instinctively, for the shortest of lengths. “What are they?”

“Glass beads,” he answered simply, then spoke to the old woman. She replied something back and he continued. “Sometimes, they are given as gifts.” Confusion suffused her expression, Lyanna was certain of that much. “Don’t take on so and go on without. You’ve plagued me, long enough.”

Scowling up at him, Lyanna grabbed the beads to her chest and ducked under the arm bracing her, running past one of the old men and dashing without. The light glaring down upon them from the sky caused sharp pain to erupt behind her eyes, thus Lyanna was unaware of Viserys descending upon her until the last possible moment. “What is that?” he demanded to know, tugging on her arms. Lyanna lowered the object reluctantly and could not help but feel amused at the awe on the child’s face.

“Glass beads,” she repeated Rhaegar’s earlier statement and allowed the length to hand from her wrist awkwardly. How was she supposed to tie it on, if she was to do it at all? Since she was very much certain the man was not making a gift to her, she had to find out what these beads stood for.

To her great relief, she was not to lose her mind with trying to find an answer, for Rhaegar was exiting the long structure and coming towards them. Scoffing at the pleased look on his face, Lyanna straightened herself.

He, however, placed a hand at the base of her spine and guided her along. “You are one costly captive, lady.” She looked down at the beads, the over her shoulder to see Viserys trailing along. Arthur followed at a languid pace, keeping the child in check. “See that this doesn’t become a habit.”

“The beads, you mean?” He gave a sharp nod. “Then why did you allow me to choose from them? You should have refused.”

“There are certain things you do not understand. This is just one of them. I will spell this plainly for you so the next time you choose to disobey, you will not have any excuse for it other than your wilfulness.” She bit into her lip to keep from retorting. “These people follow the old ways. And they do not stray. Best you keep that in mind.” She nodded. “Do not follow me within any enclosed space, unless I tell you to do so. The general assumption will be that you are either my kin or my partner otherwise. and if I were to deny, then it would simply be that you needed a lesson taught.”

“So that was why the old man spoke of childbed?” she spoke her thoughts aloud. “I did not know. I would not have followed. But still, that does not explain the beads.”

“Custom is for the man to offer praise by way of gifts. If not, it is either that he is displeased or unwilling to part with material gain.” So he’d just done it to save face. Lyanna pulled back slightly and made a thoughtful sound.

“Why not allow them to think you were displeased with me then?” It was not as if the bit was far from the truth. “What does it matter what they believe?”

“I’d not acted displeased. You were the one who came thundering in. What would you have thought in their stead?” Understanding dawned upon her. “There, now give me your word you shan’t do aught of the fashion again.”

“Of course I shan’t.” As if she were anymore thrilled at the prospect than he was. She held the beads out to him, a slight tremor shaking her arm. Not quite certain if her anger or her fear caused the trembling, Lyanna chose to look into Rhaegar’s eyes. “I was not lying. I do want to learn.”

“Why?” Such an abrupt question. He pushed her hand back, allowing the hand and the cascading beads to nestle against her midsection. She took it for a sign that the beads were hers to keep, at least for the time being.

“Whatever else you might think of me, I am determined to survive. I will not die for aught as foolish as not knowing some ground rules.” The approval she sensed in his nod induced a kinder disposition within her. “I am glad we are understood.”

“As am I, Lady Lyanna.” He worked the string around her arm, trying it securely. “It would be best if you did nit take this off from now one.”

“It’s more handsome than a rope. I shall live with it. Somehow.” He met her attempt at jest with a small smile. “Can I ask something else?” He allowed it with a curious gesture. Lyanna found she did not mind overly much. “Will you truly tell me about that supposed betrayal?”

For a moment there was silence. “And we were doing so well,” Rhaegar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will tell you, my lady, once we’ve reached safety. Will this suffice?”

She considered it for a heartbeat. It was better than naught and if she was to convince him of her innocence, her family’s innocence, she had to know what the issue was in the first place. “Aye. It will do wonderfully.” The last part was an exaggeration. She wanted to know in that instant. But as that would not be happening, she might as well let him believe she was pleased. He’d made her a gift, after all, when he could have easily cut her where she stood.

Might be he wasn’t the worst thing ever. Taking consolation in his promise, Lyanna turned away from him and began to walk towards Viserys and Arthur who were still a short distance away. “Did you make up?” the boy asked most unexpectedly, not looking away from a point on the sky.

Speechless, Lyanna searched her brain for an appropriate answer. But Rhaegar, who had apparently been right beside her, on account of those ground-eating strides, offered as likely a solution as any. “Lady Lyanna and I do not argue, Viserys. Sometimes we discuss matters in a less than quiet voice.”

“So you were not upset?” Poor child, he was finding it exceedingly hard to accept that. Lyanna supposed it had to do with the King and Queen. Likely as not, Rhaegar unaware of the current climate.

So she knelt before Viserys and offered him a bright smile. “I do not see eye to eye on every matter with your brother,” it seemed too cruel to say she did not see eye to eye with him on any matter, “and I let him know. He does the same for me. Is that not so, Ser Dayne?”

Caught in that particular snare, the knight looked from Rhaegar to her and then to the child. “If you’d recall, Your Grace, Lady Lyanna has the habit of letting all and sundry know when she disagrees with a point.”

Viserys nodded his head, wonder crossing his features. As if he had not considered that before. And just like that, his attention snapped to the next subject. “Can I see those again?” he pointed to the beads gathered around Lyanna’s wrist in thick circles.

She left him, for there was naught else she could do. “Very pretty, are they not?” The boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Shall I get you a dagger, brother, next the chance appears?” Rhaegar’s question took the boy’s attention away yet again. Lyanna could hear the anticipation, so loud was Viserys in his feeling.

Standing to her feet, she could swear Ser Dayne was muttering about happy households, which made little sense. The poor man must have grown slightly imbalanced due to boredom. Happy households; she scoffed. The knight slanted her a curious look then glanced towards the brother who had entered into some sort of childish mock-fight. It had to be boredom, Lyanna decided then and there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our dashing hero and not-particularly-damsely maiden continue their dance, to no one's surprise, I hope. 
> 
> But there is a confession coming (no, not a love-confession) and some well-deserved drama, on the emotional variety, because we've had more than enough misunderstandings up 'til now.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Until next time.
> 
> Listening to "The Real World" which is ironically fitting


	8. Bits Of Bone And Shatter-Doom

 

 

 

 

 

 

As far as villages went, the one before her certainly was a tad better off than the elders’ dwelling. It had a cluster of mud huts gathered around a wooden hall, but on the outer side of that circle stood a few taller structures. Lyanna perceived that they were not used for living, as they had no true walls to speak of. Likely as not they served as observation towers.

“What do you think, Viserys, shall we like it here?” she asked of the boy clutching at her skirts with a fine grip. He’d been all cheer until they stepped foot in the village and Lyanna was trying to deflect some of the shyness. But Viserys was pleased to answer with a nod and move closer to her. It would take time, was all.

Their arrival was greeted with curious stares and she tried not to feel too annoyed at it. She had likely gaped like a fish of out water too when she’d first been at court. They had just as much right to be in awe. For her part, Lyanna was more than prepared to stare right back with just as much curiosity. Rhaegar turned towards them, beckoning all three of them over.

She followed with a light step, giving the child an encouraging grin. Once by his brother, Viserys exchanged her grasp for his. Rhaegar did not seem bothered by that and continued a conversation he’d been having with one of his men. Lyanna waited patiently for the two to be done.

Before, however, any of that could come to pass, a couple of girls elbowed their way through the crowd. The older one must have been slightly younger than Lyanna, while the other was yet a child. Both fair-haired and tall, they stood at the forefront of the gathering together, holding hands and watching. She met the eyes of the youngest, a cool tone, neither blue nor grey. She glared something fierce, making Lyanna more than a little uncomfortable. But might be ‘twas just the way he3r face was. It would not do to judge without knowing what went on. Forcing her features into a serene mask, Lyanna folded her hands before her in a demure gesture and gazed at Rhaegar. He was just wrapping up the conversation with a wave of the hand.

That was all the sign needed for people to start bustling about, moving left and right. She threw herself at Rhaegar in what was ultimately a fond gesture and chided him in that harsh tongue, looking every now and again at Lyanna. He simply laughed and replied with a calm stringing of words. “Besides,” he then proceeded to produce speech she could understand as well, “my people are your people too. See,” he nodded towards Lyanna, “she comes from the North.”

The girl snorted. “All that is behind the Wall is South. She is Southron.” Bristling, Lyanna levelled a cool stare at the impertinent child. “No true Northerner could be a kneeler.”

Kneeler, was that supposed to insult her? “How charming. You had best teach her the proper way to insult,” she told Rhaegar, making to move past them, but he simply caught her by the shoulder and stopped her.

“Val did not mean to insult,” he assured her. He spoke to the girl in the savage tongue and she seemed properly chastised within moments. “Don’t take it to heart. Dalla and her have been through quite a lot these days.”

Dalla approached as well, placing both hands on her sister’s shoulders and pulling her back. “We are glad for your safe return. And we shall strive to treat your guests well.”

“A guest, am I?” Lyanna quipped, looking to the head of the charade. “Where I am from, guests can leave whenever they so desire.” She fully expected he would deliver a scathing reply.

But Rhaegar simply cocked his head and looked innocently behind them. “You may, of course, leave, if you so desire, my lady. Yet if you do so, you do it in your own. Let us hope memory alone is accurate enough to guide you.”  

Pursing her lips, Lyanna gave a terse nod. “Of course I mean to enjoy your hospitality for a little while before.”

“And so you shall,” the Prince assured her, pushing her towards the sisters. “Dalla will show you where to go.” The older sibling agreed silently. “We shall speak later, Lady Lyanna, once I’ve seen to the other matters that need my attention.”

“What about Viserys?” she hurriedly questioned, for some odd reason, wishing for a last moment of conversation. Even with four pairs of eyes watching them.

“Val will take him to the other children. It wouldn’t do to have him clinging to your skirts.” He smiled encouragingly to his brother. “You’ll go along, won’t you?” Viserys, despite not looking thrilled, agreed to the scheme nonetheless, leaving Lyanna with Dalla as the men and the children walked in different directions.

“Do you speak my tongue as your sister does?” Lyanna questioned after an awkward moment of silence unfolded between them. Her arm slipped easily through the other’s, along with a soft smile. “I confess it’ll be harder to chat if you do not.”

“I speak some,” the blonde offered softly. “I understand better.” Her shoulders relaxed. It seemed that in her mind the danger had passed. Poor thing, she suspected naught. Well, best blissfully unaware, Lyanna supposed.

“Rhaegar taught you,” she’d phrased it as a statement, but she was certain Dalla had caught the question beneath.

“And we taught him.” Pointing towards a hut some distance away, she said, “We go there.” The almost child-like pattern of speech matched the softness of this creature. She was mote a child than her sister. Lyanna followed without complaint, curious at what the interior of such a house looked like. Father had not allowed her within any of the peasants’ homes. But with Dalla, she suspected there was little danger.

As expected, the thatched roof and earthen walls covered a slight space, more long than wide. Lowering her head at the entrance, she went in after Dalla and inspected the single chamber. There was little to see. On the ground a square fire pit retained ashes of an earlier burn and half-consumed twigs blanketed the bottom. On the side stood a small cauldron, obviously used for cooking, and opposite it was a single narrow cot, dried straw visible from beneath a thick pelt. All in all it was an abysmal space and Lyanna would have considered anyone forced into such circumstances to be in possession of very ill-fortune indeed.

Dalla circled past her. Footsteps could be heard behind them. Lyanna turned to look. A young man had poked his head in and he was holding something out. When she did not move to take it, Dalla sprang into action, grabbing the parcel and sending the man off. She placed it in Lyanna’s arms after. “This is elk.” She must have meant elk meat. Lyanna was certain that no elk was as small as that. “We cook it.”

Chagrined, Lyanna glanced from the girl to the parcel. “I do not cook,” she said after a moment. At Dalla’s inquiring look, Lyanna clarified. “I cannot.” Still, the confusion never dissipated. But then again, she hadn’t known how to remove the scales from a fish either. “Teach me?”

Then the girl nodded, adding a few words in her own tongue. She would have to familiarise herself with that as well. But Dalla was already moving, dragging the cauldron away from the wall. The bent over the gaping mouth and pulled without a few bowls, a knife and a long wooden slab which she placed over the mouth. It balanced, forming a sort of table. Lyanna placed the meat upon it without being asked.

Attentively, she watched as Dalla uncovered the meat, hanging the cloth upon her girdle. She turned the meat from one side to the other, inspecting it. Lyanna could distinguish little other than muscle from fat, so she offered no opinion. But the rosy colour did not seem out of place. Dalla waved the knife, forcing her eyes away. “Look,” she said, holding the chunk of meat down and cutting it in two horizontally. “This we cook,” she pushed a half to the side. “This we put back.” The knife was resting on the wooden slab as Dalla pulled the rag from her kirtle. “Wrap.”

Soft cold wetness against her palm, Lyanna grimaced. The raw meat oozed a liquid onto her skin, droplets dripping from between her fingers. Holding back the disgust, she grabbed the cloth and spread it over her other palm, placing the meat upon it. The she proceeded to carefully wrap it and tie the ends together.

“Water next,” she was informed, Dall taking the package from her. “Without. In barrel.” And that was all she truly had to say, for Lyanna was more than glad to be rid of the meat. She stepped without, again lowering her head. As the girl had said, there was a barrel about five steps away and next to it a small bucket. She filled it, trying to ignore the water which sloshed past the rim onto the hem of her skirts, darkening the material.

Back within, she placed the bucket on the ground and looked uncertainly towards Dalla who had cut the meat into wide strips. She beckoned Lyanna over and pulled the wooden slab away, nodding towards the interior of the cauldron. Like the girl had done, she simply bent over it and pushed a hand inside it. To her surprise, there were still objects to be taken out. Good of her to not have dumped the water in. She picked firstly a strange little wineskin, too small to carry drink. And it was solid either way. The next thing she found was onions and some greenery she knew naught about. And that was all.

The thought struck her that she had seen neither hide nor hair of spices. And why should she, Lyanna realised, when these people were so far removed from any actual trading points. And to think the larder at Winterfell was filled to the brim. But Dalla did not seem to mind any of that. She was happily chopping and parting meat. She explained something to Lyanna about order then promised to return as quick as possible, leaving her on her own.

Without much to do, she took up a bite-sized cube and inspected it. Fortunately, she did not have the time to grow bored with it for the girl returned with a small bag in her arms. She placed it next to the bucket and picked up the small skin uncorking the stop. Turning it over, she held it over the cauldron’s mouth as Lyanna removed the wooden slab for good. When naught came dripping out her suspicions were confirmed. Still, she knew not what exactly was within.

Before she could ask, however, Rhaegar came striding in, carrying an armful of wood. He dumped it in the pit and knelt by the side. Arthur followed with a flaming torch in hand, careful not to touch it to anything. “Where have you been?” Lyanna questioned, eyes moving back and forth between the skin and the men.

“Did I not tell you?” the Prince demanded of his companion, as if continuing an older thread of conversation. Then he looked at her. “Making certain we shan’t freeze in the night. It is, I am told, essential to survival.” Scowling, Lyanna glanced away to see a thick white paste coming out of the skin. A few chunks of it dropped into the cauldron. It had to be some sort of fat.

A roaring fire followed close behind and the cauldron was moved over it to help the congealed fat liquefy. It burst and popped, filling the space with a distinctive smell. She heard rather than saw an accord was reached between the men and Lyanna offered no words when Rhaegar called her away, but for a single glance Dalla’s way.

“Dalla shall be fine on her own,” the Prince promised, taking her without and away along a small sideways path. The sun was already starting to dip, its rear kissing the horizon line. A gust of wind blew past them, tugging gently at her hair.

“I never thought you’d have found help all the way out here,” she noted after a few moments in which he offered her naught. “Is Dalla–“ She could not say it, Lyanna realised. Dalla might well be a child in the eyes of the kingdoms’ dwellers, but for these folks, she was rather certain they’d see her as a woman. And Rhaegar seemed a great adept of adapting.

Instead of answering, he offered her a seat of a felled tree, remaining on his feet even after she was sitting, staring up at him. Taking a small object out, he held it towards her. “Do you recognise this?” The heavy metal circle dropped in her palm.

It was a brooch. Lyanna turned it over. The fierce wolf’s head snapping its jaws up at her caused a chill to run down her spine. The metal had not been properly cared for, rust setting in. “I believe my great-great-grandfather had it made. How did it come to be in your possession?” Father had always said so, at any rate. It could easily be older.

“It was given to me, when I yet served at the Wall.” That surprised her enough to cause an uncomfortable shift. “From the man who tried to kill me.” She gasped, not believing her ears. “He said it was so I would know.”

“Know what?” A brooch meant naught. They could be cast a thousand times. And yet she’d said it herself, the dratted thing belonged to her house. Lyanna shook her head. “I cannot believe it. Why would–”

“Even with evidence before your eyes you would not believe?” He did not seem upset. Just tired. Lyanna’s mouth snapped shut. She watched him cautiously and stiffened when he tossed away his chainmail.

“What are you doing?” How she hated that her voice sounded so small. He, on the other hand, seemed emboldened by her discomfort. Settling her with a dry look, Rhaegar pulled off his tunic, leaving him bare-chested.

Even unwilling, her gaze followed the contours of hi shape until it came just above midsection. Eyes growing wide, Lyanna felt all the blood drain from her face. Slack-jawed, she instinctively reached out, catching herself midway. That did not even look like the work of a knife or sword. It was too wide, the edges too jagged. But the scar was old, its colour that of faded parchment. “There, do you believe me now?” She had believed him even before, was what she wished to say, just not that it had been her father’s hand.

“But there are two brooches,” she pointed out abruptly. “How would you know this belongs to my father?” At that he merely smiled, a thin twist of lips that left her feeling cold, her stomach in knots. She wondered if it hurt.

“I know.” Pursing her lips, Lyanna declined challenging him upon that.

“How did you survive?” The scar looked harrowing. She did not wish to know what the wound had been like, but for all that her mind would not stop conjuring up the image of gaping flesh and sputtering blood. He’d not been jesting when he’d claimed he was hard to kill. And she’d been worried over a simple cut.

“To be fair, my lady, that I cannot recall very well. I must have crawled away from my attacker, or else there was help. But when I woke up after, I remember strange voice speaking in a tongue I did not know and everything hurt. A burning pain. I do not know if you’ve felt aught like it.” He redressed slowly. “I thought I would die. I wished I would die.”

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She did not want to think of him as aught other than the cocky, self-sure, irritable, dastardly rouge he was. That she could deal with. Naked vulnerability was not something that had been accepted or acceptable in Lord Stark’s children. She had buried hers somewhere deep, deep down. “No one wishes they would die,” she attempted a feeble soothing. What did one say to that? The knowledge that the loose tunic hid one of the most gruesome scars she’d ever seen made her slightly lightheaded. She wanted so very much to argue him on his belief that it had been her kin to do him wrong, but even in her state of upheaval, she was aware that would only serve to push him away.

Standing to her feet slowly, she balled her hands into fists, trying to keep from fidgeting as she made up her mind. Rhaegar watched her silently, as if waiting for something more. “I regret that you had to go through that.” He met her gaze, holding her in a trance. She had that feeling, distinctive and uncomfortable, that she would be babbling like an idiot soon. So she stopped herself. “What about Dalla and Val?”

“Their mother helped me. I promised I would look after them when the woman met her end. It was the least I could do.” How strange that when he mentioned this mother his gaze should soften and mist over. Lyanna breathed in and out, trying to calm her pounding heart. Her ribcage hurt. The family he did not have, that was what those girls had been to him. And she had foolish assumed. Lyanna could hit herself. She kept her silence, however, and waited. “We should head back. It’s growing cold.”

Nodding her head dumbly, she took a step forth. And before she knew it, her arms had, voluntarily, wrapped around his middle. “I am sorry.” She would find a way to prove to him that her father had not done it.

“A cartload of apologies is not enough for this. Regret doesn’t solve it.” What baffled her was that he spoke calmly, warmly almost.

“I know.” Gods nay, she was weeping like a child.

Holding her chin up, Rhaegar brushed a tear away. “I don’t need your tears, Lady Lyanna. I want vengeance.”

She nodded. Her throat would not cooperate in creating words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're anything like me, you want to punch something now. So here's something to cheer you up (if you enjoy gutter humour, that is, and Batman):
> 
>  
> 
> [ Batmetal ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qatmJtIJAPw)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Batmetal the second ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I53HDr0-Qew)
> 
>  
> 
> Have a care though, they are pretty gruesome and if it's not your kind of humour, you might get offended. Don't say I didn't warn you.


	9. Strength Of A Thousand Men

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t slurp,” Lyanna admonished gently, wiping a stray droplet from the child’s chin. “You know ‘tis not well-mannered of you.” Granted, since the children were not required to eat with a spoon in these parts, his endeavours were made rather difficult. She glanced over at Val who was happily slurping at her own food. Viserys was looking at her, in the meantime, with a pout. “Fine, Your Grace, go ahead.” Just imagining the amount of rules she’d have to drill into the poor boy once they were back home, within the safe walls of a keep, was horrifying. The boy resumed his slurping.

It was going to end up in a mess. Lyanna took a spoonful of her own bowl. Without an abundance of spice and with a rather meagre repertoire of vegetables, the odd dish she was fed presented itself as a bland thick paste, not entirely a soup, but not quite a stew. A few pieces of meat floated atop the dull coloured surface. She plunged the spoon back in and placed the bow upon the ground.  She truly wished the sound of slurping would not prove as distracting as it did. Benjen used to do it as a child, until she dumped his bow of soup over his head. Still, one could not take such a measure against the King’s son. The slurping one, that was.

The other son had finished his meal beforehand and had taken off yet again. When Lyanna had asked Dalla, the girl had simply answered that they were going to bring back more wood. The smile pile in the corner had seemed more than enough to Lyanna’s eyes, but she’d not argued.

That left her with more than enough time to come to the conclusion that this would be her first night spent in a village, on the dirt floor, like a pauper. It was not that she had aught against the poor of the realm. On the contrary, they were poor souls to be pitied and aided as best as one could. She had just never imagined she would be put into a situation where she would adopt similar conditions.

“Enough?” Dalla asked, eyeing her bowl of uneaten food.

Lyanna nodded her head, despite her stomach squeezing in protest. “I do not think I can eat a bite more.” She handed the bow over, silently cursing herself. Dalla took it from her hands and split its contents between Viserys and Val.

Was it a common practice? The girl smiled at her when she looked up, seeming to thank her for aught. Lyanna could not understand what for though. “I need some air,” she said, standing up. “I will return shortly.”

“I will wait.” And sit with the children, no doubt. Lyanna made her way to the entrance. She glanced over her shoulder to see the three companions busy themselves with the food and then she was out into the cool night’s air.

The flimsy protection of her kirtle proved much too thin a barrier between her and the cold though. Lyanna shivered lightly, trying to make out the rest of the village through the darkness. If the blood of the wolf truly was within her, she should not have such trouble with a bit of dry gale, she thought to herself, a grimace upon her lips. Wrapping her arms around herself, Lyanna tensed slightly as the shadows before her moved.

Before she could scurry back in, however, in one graceful and completely unexpected fluid motion, she was within Rhaegar’s grasp, too stunned to even struggle. “Back within,” he instructed in a steely voice, forcing her to step backwards.

Once inside, Lyanna stood watching as Dalla and Val rose to their feet, looking at Rhaegar expectantly. He said something Lyanna could not even hope to understand, then Arthur came in. His duties seemed to now include carrying stacks of wood about. But the knight simply placed the wood next to the original pile and went without. Dalla and Val, holding hands, followed, though neither looked particularly pleased.

“What exactly is happening here?” she found herself demanding to know, moving closer to Viserys. “Where is Ser Dayne off to?” He was supposed to stay here with them. It was not that Lyanna necessarily trusted the man, but even she could recognise that being alone with Rhaegar Targaryen was dangerous for one’s health.

Rhaegar knelt by the dying fire and fed it a couple of thick logs. “Six people is too much for such a small space. It is easier if we split. Besides, the Red Wanderer is almost within the Moonmaid.” He seemed to be conveniently forgetting that Wildling customs were completely foreign to her.

“And what does that have to do with aught?” Viserys had already dropped upon the pile of straw, nestling beneath the furs when she glanced his way. The boy could sleep through anything.

“That is the best time for stealing women.” She made a face at his explanation, which he undoubtedly caught when he looked up. “I doubt anyone would try to filch Val, and she has a set of sharp teeth that’s enough to keep her out of trouble. But Dalla,” he trailed off.     

Dalla was a soft girl. “Stealing women? Dalla’s a child. She can be no older than four and ten. Do you mean to tell me men regularly brutalise poor innocent children into their beds?” Or straw pallets as the case may be.

“Not if the woman defeats him,” the Prince shrugged.  “But Dalla has no wish to be stolen yet, so the point does not merit discussion.”

She was beginning to feel slightly concerned. “She is expected to fight?” While she could well understand the general sentiment, Lyanna was uncertain that a girl such as Dalla stood much of a chance against, say, a man of Rhaegar’s built. And while the Prince was tall, the bulk was average as bulk went. Her middle brother’s constant companion, Robert, was might be broader in the shoulders despite being younger. And she had had enough trouble in their mock battles even knowing the basics of wielding weaponry. As for her battles against Rhaegar, the woeful proof seemed to be staring her in the face.

“They’ve weapons,” Rhaegar explained nonchalantly. “Dalla caries a knife about. But since she does not wish to go yet, I simply thought it was better to have a helping hand.” The implication being that otherwise, he would have left well alone. “You do know some women are trained warriors, aye?”

“Brave Dany Flint is the only woman with a warrior’s training I know of.” And that had not ended well. “Is Dalla a trained warrior then?” And could she somehow see that she was trained?

“Nay. She did not wish to pick up weapon. I only taught her how to wield the short knife. A pity, she’d be quite good. Agile.” And to think her lord father would have sooner locked her in the crypts than allow her to put her hands on a sword. But then again, the chances of her needing a short knife to slash to ribbons an enemy’s face were slimmer than a girl’s like Dalla.

“This Wanderer and his Maiden, is that what you did when you took me?” Suspicion crept on soft tendrils, wrapping around her gently. “Because I might well not be carrying a knife, but I promise you, you won’t live to see the sunrise if you attempt anything.”

He sighed and stood to his feet. “Had you been taken, woman, I promise you, you would know. There would be no need for questions.” Looming over her, he did present somewhat of a challenge to stand up to. Lyanna had always enjoyed a good challenge. “As for your ill-thought promise, I can assure you, you wouldn’t be able to harm me.”

She snorted. Without warning, Lyanna grabbed onto him, digging her nails into his arm in her ascent. But he’d either expected it or was truly very good at anticipating such attacks, because he caught her by the shoulder and whirled her around, his other arm returning to lock a path across her shoulders and pull her backwards.

Unwilling to give him the benefit of a victory so easily, Lyanna threw her had back in hopes of catching him. Which she did, given their proximity. The blow was enough to momentarily bring him some discomfort by the way he grunted, but not enough to keep him from knocking her feet from under her. Luckily enough, her skirts tripped him along as well.   

Lyanna rolled away, kicking one leg out. She caught him in the knee, for which he was more than willing to give a sharp tug to her hair. “Unsporting of you, my lady, to kick a man when he is down.”

“If he brought himself down,” she trailed off, evading his grip just barely. Somehow she managed to climb on her hands and knees. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pounced, landing in an inelegant straddle on top of the man. Hands on his shoulders, she pressed down. “Got you now.”

Victory tasted sweet indeed. Lyanna gave herself a mental pat on the back, even fully aware that he’d not been trying very hard to put up a fight. “Have you?” he questioned softly, moving slightly beneath her, as if to adjust his position.  

She had only a moment to register his hands gripping her hips before he flipped them over, with about the same ease with which one turned the bedsheets. It was her turn to be pinned to the ground. “I say you haven’t, Lady Lyanna. But it was a commendable attempt.”

Temporary madness must have claimed her for, despite herself, Lyanna felt a stirring. She looked into his eyes, quite lost, and tried to rationalise her way past that, even as her body wiggled on its own accord. “You are supposed to allow the lady to win, don’t you know that?”

“In tussles? Never.” The passionate declaration was joined by a slight pressure that was both familiar and tragically more appealing in the moment. It had to be insanity, there was no other reason for which she would be reacting thus.

He stilled as well, seemingly stunned. Lyanna could swear she heard his heart beating. All the same, she remained trapped beneath him as he gripped at her hips once more. “Keep still.” She didn’t. “Unless you consider yourself a keep in want of claiming, I suggest you keep still.” His voice was strained. What a curious reaction.

Before she could test what pushing him further would bring, Rhaegar rolled away, standing to his feet. He held one hand out. Released from the pressure of his weight, Lyanna found her lungs expanding with a surplus of cold air whooshing within. She reached out for him, not even bothering to help him along as he pulled her to her feet. “What does battle siege have to do with this?” she found herself asking after a few moments.

His quelling look did not help her curiosity any. “Go to sleep, woman. I won’t spend the night keeping you entertained.” Despite the fact that a few moments passed he’d seemed quite eager to keep her entertained. Lyanna blinked slowly.

“Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?” She started at the curse he gave in reply to that. But there was only one straw palette in the hut and Viserys was sprawled across it.

“Just go beside my brother,” he told her, pushing her in the general direction.

“Where will you sleep?” He was growing annoyed. Lyanna smiled sweetly in return. She’d entertain herself if he was not up to the task.

“You ask too many questions. Move to the wall.” She crawled over Viserys, wiggling her way beneath the furs, unclenching the child’s fingers from around them as she did so. Viserys murmured and turnecd towards her, burying his face in her shoulder. Lyanna continued to watch as Rhaegar walked to the fire and put it out.

In the ensuing darkness, she heard him move about and then felt a rush of cool air slip beneath the furs. And it hit her. Undiluted amusement welled up within her. “I have to say that for a sword, poor Viserys is not as sharp as one might wish.” She truly hoped the Fox has had a better sword on her wedding night.

“Will you be silent and sleep?” She did so enjoy getting under his skin. He deserved it. Every moment.

“Afraid?” Lyanna teased, unable to help herself despite it being rather low hanging fruits.

“Only that I might throttle you,” he replied acidly. “We don’t need a sword between us. We need a wall.” He’d whispered the last part, but she still caught and stifled her laughter. On the other hand, she was sharing her bed, or rather his bed, with a man she was not wedded to. It was no laughing matter. Which made her laugh all the more. “What is it now?” the man asked.

“Naught,” she managed tightly, still fighting the compulsion to giggle. It truly was not a matter of great amusement. “Rhaegar?”

“Aye?” With any amount of good fortune, he would not end up throttling her. So Lyanna took a deep breath.

“And I in danger as well?” The words spilled between them, seeping into the pervasive silence. He did not answer promptly. “Would anyone try to take me?” He was, after all, not the very worst man in whose clutches she might have ended. And that might well be because of who he was. She could not be certain of a fate as kind should she fall into another’s possession. “Like Dalla is?”

She half expected he would give a scathing answer. But what he said instead gave her pause. “It shouldn’t, but if it does happen that a fool wanders in thinking to carry you off, you had best learn to wash out blood.”

The thought that he was agreeing to protect her, even in as grudging a manner as he exhibited warmed her. “Why should it not?”

“It is rare for a man to try stealing away what belongs to another already.” She was beginning to understand. Lyanna nodded her head before she could remember that in total darkness, he might be unaware of it. “Since I stole you first, you should be safe enough.” She was beginning to feel rather safe.

“When ought I start worrying?” Snaking an arm over Viserys, she grabbed a fistful of furs, aware that he was just beneath. Better to know where he lied than wonder.

Rhaegar twisted. “When I’m dead.” She hummed in agreement and closed her eyes.

At the very least she had the benefit of some protection from a man could have done her harm plenty of times, but for some reason, had neglected to do so. Not that Lyanna was complaining. She sighed into the furs and allowed blessed tiredness wash over her. 

Falling asleep was an easier task than before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the pitter-patter that woke him. Rhaegar came to with a start, one of his arms numb. He was about to yank the limb away and inspect the damage when he realised there was a weight upon it. And for that matter, a bony knee was pressed uncomfortably into his abdomen. However, there was some good news; the pain left no room for innocuous, but annoying, imaginings.

Safe from that, his only worry remained the dratted pain. Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, Rhaegar lifted his head over the mass of furs to catch glimpse of a rebellious tangle of strands falling about into a slumbering face. He sighed, allowed his head to drop back and listened to the falling rain. Using all willpower, he clenched and unclenched his fingers repeatedly, feeling the telltale needles poke into his skin weakly. He rather wished he could draw away, buts instead, he was forced to gently pry his sleeping limb from beneath the head of an equally slumbering she-wolf. More trouble than she was worth, that one.

Once his used and abused limb was finally free, Rhaegar continued his exercise in  dexterity by rolling away completely, until he was out of the tangle of furs, only slightly disoriented  and a bit too annoyed at the loss of heat. Snow would not have made all that noise. Grimacing, Rhaegar thought about all the sludge they’d be trudging through. He heaved a sigh and climbed to his feet, moving towards the pit. The ashes had cooled into the night, and given his brother and the woman still slept, there was no need to lit another fire so soon.    

Thus he returned to his earlier position, only this time careful to avoid tangling with either of the other occupants of the narrow space. But peace and quiet were not meant to last. Not for him, at any rate. Lyanna stirred, coming to with a yawn and a cat-like stretch. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, as if to adjust her gaze to the, low, volume of light. “Is it morning?” she questioned in a quiet voice over the child’s head, not moving any further from her position than to draw the furs higher.

“Aye.” His reply earned him a nod of the head. Then she closed her eyes once more and seemed to drift back to sleep.

“Must we rise?” The mournful note gave him pause as the idea occurred to him that he could make her rise for naught.

“Nay.” A little drowsy himself and unlikely to be able to do much without, he would rather linger.

“I’ve always despised rising early.” The murmur fell over his ears as he settled more comfortably in his spot, curling in a half-arch, stretching out his arm until his hand was somewhere on her back.

“The sunrise is always a beautiful sight,” he commented back.

“One cannot see the sunrise because of all this rain.” He nodded in agreement, but she never caught it, her eyes closed.

Somehow, he managed to doze off n the ensuing stillness.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The older I get, the more I find that there are things in this world which would likely scare even the devil. *Sigh* FI. Needed something to end on a calm note, consequently, this chapter is not all that great. Sorry guys/ :)


	10. Upon Return

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wicker basket sat in the mud, the lid a small distance away, turned upside-down. There was naught within other than a small square of roughspun covering the bottom. Lyanna looked for a few moments longer upon the emptiness, a shiver running down her spine. She glanced away, eyes falling upon the clear water. The smooth rock beneath her knees had become slightly more uncomfortable, its hardness pressing with knife-like ache into the soft skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath as cool droplets slid down her fingers, seeping into the cloth.

Pushing the discomfort into the back of her mind, she plunged the tunic into the icy waters, rubbing fistfuls of it together to remove stains from it. She would have been happier had Rhaegar allowed that she might join him on the hunt, but all her insistence had earned her was his cold refusal. In truth, her hands were not thankful towards it anymore than she. Red skin chafed, flesh quivering under the assault of a thousand needles. Still, she could no more complain than she could return to the Wall.

Dalla knelt by her, making fast work of her load. Agile fingers gripped and twisted in what seemed learned motions. She did not look up from her work. The girl had barely spoken a handful of words, distracted as she was. Lyanna had asked after her strange mood, but all she’d garnered was that the child worried. For what? It was anyone’s guess. Unwilling to press any further, she had let the matter go.

Two arms came around her from behind, hands covering her eyes. “Guess who.” The command was followed by a breathy giggle, weight pressing against her back. The slim frame exuded a peculiar smell, earth and snow, and a herb Lyanna could not name. Stopped short by this intervention, she pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“I do not know,” was her first attempt. “What happens if I do not guess?” Another giggle reached her ears. Her hands were moving of their own accord, washing despite her blindness. “Or if I am wrong in my guess?”

“We’ll pull your hair a dozen times,” came the swift rejoinder. “Guess.”

“Not a dozen times, I beg of you.” Having imbued her voice with some amount of feigned horror, Lyanna was more than certain she would not fail in her goal. “Half a dozen should suffice. If my folly is punished too harshly, shall I ever wish to play again?”

It was the turn of her captor to be thoughtful. “Ten times.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” The compliment was met with silence. “Ten then. Let me think now. Who is behind me?” A small sound left her lips as she lifted the tunic, wringing it with all the force she could muster. Water splashed, a good portion falling over her front. The cool kiss very near had her jump backwards. “You are Val, aren’t you?”

The sharp tug on her hair was not unexpected. “I am Viserys,” complained the same voice, allowing her to see once more even as the tugs continued. “Val is the one pulling your hair.”

Schooling her features into placidity, Lyanna endured ten tugs upon her tresses, looking towards Dalla who sported a small smile despite herself. She had already placed back within the basket her washing and was visibly waiting upon Lyanna to do the same. Lyanna did not disappoint.

After everything had been gathered, their small group returned to the settlement, with other woman walking beside as well, talking and laughing. “Would you not prefer to walk with them?” Lyanna nodded towards a cluster of three to whom Dalla had previously spoken.

The girl, holding the basket with both hands as Val ran before her, shook her head. “Rhaegar said to stay with you.”  

At that she laughed. “He is not here to chastise you if you do not.” But Dalla refused a second time. “Come; I do not wish you to feel as if it were a mandatory thing.”

“Mandatory?” The Wildling questioned, frowning at Lyanna.

“Aye, mandatory is something you are forced to do.” The explanation was registered with a deepening of the frown. But Dalla did not comment, she merely moved closer to Lyanna and walked alongside her in silence as Val and Viserys began a lively chasing game joined by a few of the other children.

Whether she did not wish to admit she had been obligated to join her or if she genuinely did not feel it to be an obligation, Lyanna did not manage to get out of Dalla, thus she was to make do with what she had. And even if Rhaegar had put the girl up to it, what did that matter to Lyanna. After all, Dalla and her sister seemed to have been in the man’s power before her arrival and would likely continue on the path after she was gone.

Returned to the hut, she and the eldest sister followed their routine, cutting long strips of meat together and a few of the rather dried vegetables they had left. Given the relative small number of souls left in the village with the men and spearwives taking themselves off to the hunt, they would likely gather together once more in the long hall and exchange food once more.

Lyanna found it to be a good exercise in guessing the position of the giver. As a general rule, meat was scarce even for the wealthier folk, however, those with enough resources would, on these days of exchange, garnish their food with spices. It made little matter what the result tasted like, as these women dumped most of what they had in their pots, their objective made clear by smug smiles and glinting eyes. And Dalla was little different. Lyanna would have told her not to make waste of the already scarce salt, but she knew better. Aught she said would be brushed off. Thus she simply put away some of the yielded broth before the taste could be ruined.

As expected, after sundown, the women and children gathered together around a roaring fire, breaking into small groups, Lyanna presumed of maidens, wives and lads not yet prepared to wield blade or bow. Although most of them were well on their way to learning all the ricks of the trade, there seemed to be little desire from their elders to expose them. Naturally though, the older they grew, the swifter dangerous days approached.

Viserys dashed past her, followed closely by Val and another girl who Lyanna did not know. Her bright copper curls had been tied with a piece of rope and more than a few stares travelled her way. Apparently, such hair was considered to bring luck. While she herself did not know about luck, the shade was particular thus easily recognisable. In any case, should anyone set to searching for such an individual, they would have little trouble in their endeavour.

Dalla plopped herself down next to Lyanna on a log as a young woman approached them. She exchanged words with her companion and Lyanna did her best not to stare. She could not understand a thing, but the friendly manner exhibited by both females put her at ease, enabling her attention to drift towards the Prince and his play. Yet Viserys had little need of his attention. He jumped about with the other children, their shouts and laughter ringing all around them.

A hand touched her shoulder, pulling Lyanna out of the reverie. She glanced towards Dalla who was nodding at the third woman. Then the girl turned to face her. “This is Gyrd,” Dalla introduced the unknown woman. She was about Lyanna’s own age, yet taller and fuller of figure. Presumably, she had a child of her own running about.

Nodding towards her, Lyanna offered a small smile. “Lyanna,” she offered in exchange, looking into blue-grey eyes. There was naught else she could say for the tongue was lot on her. But Gyrd had little trouble prattling on to Dalla who nodded and occasionally made a sound that seemed to mean the two were in agreement.

“Gyrd asks if you want to,” there Dalla stopped, face scrunching in concentration, “how do you say it? When you give something and she gives aught in return.”

“A trade. She wants to make trade with me?” She ought not to be surprised. It was not as if one could buy with coin what they wished for. “What trade?”

Gyrd held forth a small parcel. The roughspun wrapping was placed in Lyanna’s lap and she was invited to look at what lied within. With a small shrug, she undid the bindings. She shook out a long, nearly formless garb. It was much like what the other women wore. Lyanna studied the kirtle for a few moments, an idea taking form in her mind. “And what would I give in exchange?”

“Your own kirtle,” Dalla informed softly, fingers the heavy folds of dark colour.

“It would fit her better than it does me,” she laughed, even as she considered the proposition. How easy it would be to escape unnoticed in such clothes. No one would suspect she was anything other than a Wildling. “May I try it?”

Dalla asked and Gyrd agreed. Lyanna wondered if she ought to walk back ton the hut but before she could make a decision, the two were tugging on stiff laces, disrobing her with swift tugs. For a moment she wanted to protest, but then she realised no one paid them much mind. It was, she supposed, aught which was natural to them. Thus she accepted the aid and stepped out of the septa’s clothes. She put on the other and looked upon the result.

Comparable in length to her earlier dress, this kirtle proved a tad tighter and the inside had been lined with another layer, to keep the cold at bay. She hugged her arms together, testing the comfort. It was as good a thing as she was ever going to find in this place. “It’ll take it. She can keep the kirtle.”

Gyrd murmured a few words, holding Lyanna’s dress to her chest. She seemed excited, to say the least, and for such small a matter too. Lyanna smiled, nodding her head. Dalla giggled. “She says her man will think he’s entered the wrong hut when he sees her.”

It was an endearing though, that she had aided in such a scheme. Lyanna giggled as well. “Tell her I wish her the best of luck.” After another short exchange Gyrd saw herself off, walking to a small group of women, her lively step rather telling. She proceeded to speak animatedly with her companions. “Are you close with her?” Lyanna questioned Dalla once the two of them remained on their own.

“Nay. Mother helped her once. She is good to Val.” Cocking her head to the side, Lyanna waited for further explanation. “She stays with us at times, when Rhaegar is away.” Dalla ginned at her. “But now we stay with you.”

So they did. All four of them huddled on the straw pallet beneath furs. It was not nearly as warm as when Rhaegar had been there, but Lyanna had achieved a modicum of comfort and by the way the others had slept the past few days, they too had not been disappointed with the accommodations.

For most of the hours that followed, Lyanna watched bowls of food pass from one hand to the other, going around in the wide circles, both women and children joining in. It was little wonder no one had the stomach to eat aught after. If the onslaught of spice did not curb all desire to eat, then the many number of sips one took was likely to fill even the hungriest. She herself had to stop after the first few and felt almost sorry for the food she’d saved. Likely it would not be eaten until the morrow.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bucket fell over, spilling steaming water all over the floor. It seeped into the dirt as Lyanna cried out in admonishment, catching the child by shoulders. “Viserys, look what you’ve done.” Having stilled his progress, she placed the bucket back in its initial position. “I shan’t heat anymore water,” she warned, “if you think ‘tis not good enough, then you may wash with the cold one.”

“Why wash?” Val protested, eyes set in a fierce glare. As many young one were known to do, she fought Lyanna fiercely upon this decision. Nonetheless, the two of them were streaked with dirt, their hands almost coal-black. It looked to her like a good wash was needed.

The wet rag came down upon their hands, wiping away at the grime. “For I wish it,” she responded to the impertinent child. “The both of you are better fit for the stables than any clean bed.” While she could not be certain about the bed, it was a straw pallet after all, Lyanna was most certain that a bit of water was not going to melt any flesh off of bones. She carried on with her task until the boy and girl were decently cleansed and threw the rag in the empty bucket.

“Off you go, to the other hut,” she shooed them. “Dalla will tuck you in.” In the meantime, she would need to scrape the wet earth away and throw it out.

Dalla, who had witnessed the exchange, took the two by the hands and led them away. “Do not stay long,” she advised with a smile. Lyanna scoffed and turned to grab a makeshift broom. “The night is cold.”

“So it is, but I much doubt I shall freeze with how much work I have.” Why, Viserys had been such a well-behaved child until he’d met Val. Now it was all she could do to keep him from getting in some scrape. Good gods, she was almost of a mind to tie the both of them down. Alas, such a thing could not be. She was fated to suffer through their ill-tempers and endure the shenanigans. At the very lest until Rhaegar returned. When he did, she would speak to him. The man was bound to be able to do aught about it.

Lyanna muttered to herself as she doubled over to pick up the pail. She took it the few steps to the door and pushed it without, not bothering to move it out of the doorway before returning to the task at hand. It struck her that Rhaegar might not be willing to help. If anything, the man would mock and tease and laugh himself silly. And if he did that, what was she to do? Her eyes travelled to the bucket. She wondered if one strike would be enough. Might be a couple or three.

A huff left her lips. No use making plans when the man had yet to return. The gods might smile down upon her yet.    

Someone poked their head in just as she was finishing her work and let out a garbled string of words, startling Lyanna so bad she actually screamed out. Almost immediately, the voice spoke once more, laughter suffusing the words. She looked over her shoulder to catch glimpse of Gyrd, wearing her new kirtle, a flush in her cheeks. The woman continued to speak, making a few signs with her hands. Lyanna simply nodded, a small smile on her lips.

Once done, Gyrd took herself off as fast as her legs could carry her. That could only mean she was in a hurry to reach her hut, which in turn pointed Lyanna o what was going on. With a shake of the head, she looked about to make certain all was prepared. She would walk to Dalla and carry Viserys back if the boy slept. Might be he’d not fallen asleep yet. With Val by his side, the boy fell into such a chatter that Lyanna wondered his lips did not fall off.

A curse reached her ears and something which sounded suspiciously like wood slammed to the ground. “Woman, what are you trying to do?” Rhaegar’s annoyed demand had her twirling around so fast she made herself dizzy. “Devils take you. I could have broken my leg.”

“But you haven’t,” she pointed out, careful to disguise the pleased note from her voice. She took in the sight of him, heart lifting in relief. Rhaegar stepped forth and pushed into her arms a couple of bundles. “What are these?” They were a tad heavier than she’d expected. Lyanna moved her fingers to pull the cloth off of one of them. Bloodstained fur greeted her sight.

“Rabbit and elk,” the King’s eldest answered, moving around her to sit down on the straw. “Put them away.”

Rolling her eyes, she walked to the cauldron and lifted the lid off. Within chunks of ice glistened in the low light. She placed both bundles within and replaced the lid. “Are you hungry?” she questioned, already picking up a bow of broth and a piece of bread.

She heard rather than saw his affirmative answer. Without a second thought she turned towards him, carrying the food with care. “Where is my brother?” He reached for the offerings and nodded that she should sit next to him and answer.

“I sent him off with Dalla and Val. I’d still not finished my task.” He nodded, still eating. “You wouldn’t believe how well he and Val get along. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were siblings. And forsooth he’s been missing you aught dreadful. There hasn’t been one day to go by without him asking upon your return. I had best bring him back.”

“Nay, Leave him be. He’s bound to have fallen asleep by now.” The man pushed the remnants of his meal into her hands. “And you? What have you been doing in my absence?” He helped her up and Lyanna walked without to wash the bowl.

“What have I been doing?” she mimicked. “Why, I’ve been pining.” That was what she said as soon as she set foot back within. The bowl was placed in its customary position. “What else does a maiden do?”

“Pining, eh?” There was aught in the way he’d said it. Lyanna glanced at her from beneath her lashes.

“Pining,” she maintained, brushing her hands across the front of her skirts. “Ought I have done differently?”She sat back down, wishing she’d insisted upon bringing Viserys back. It was rather strange to be alone with him. “I jest. I never feared you would not return.”

“Your faith in me is astounding.” She felt his arms brush against her shoulder but refused to lift her head.

“What faith? You are like the plague. Even if I wanted you gone you’d still cling to me.” He didn’t pull away. In fact, that seemed to embolden him further.

“Is that any way to express your gratitude, my lady? I deserve aught for my efforts.” Fingers trailed a path along her other arm. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“The knowledge that you are a good man should be enough then,” Lyanna snapped, not knowing if she ought to pull away and wiggle closer. “What is it with you? Have you been drinking?” She’s not put it past him.

“Not I. But I’ve been thinking.” She did not prompt him to go on and he did not need it. “You are,” he trailed off. Lyanna waited with baited breath for him to continued, but instead she felt warm lips press against her temple. “You are right. I am drunk.”

“I beg your pardon?” She jumped up, brushing his hold away. The bastard; he was laughing at her. “Is this some sort of jest?” She kicked at him, but he caught her foot and gave a tug. “Let go!” Lyanna swore she’d give him a good dressing down. The hand around her ankle pulled harder.

“Not on your life, my lady. You are mine now, after all.” She fell over him, hands reaching for his shoulders instinctively. They remained like that, staring at one another for the longest moment, until he opened his mouth. “Now would be the time to run off, my lady.”

Her lips pursed momentarily. “Run off where?” Fingers clenched together. His arms had come around her. “Have you gone daft?”

He laughed. “You’ve no idea. Unless you wish to find out, be off.”

What was the worst he could do? Lyanna shook her head and twisted around in his hold until she was seated in his lap. “You’re all words and no action; I’ve learned my lesson.” His hold tightened considerably, as if in silent warning. She pressed on. “What is it to me if you rain down a few more words?”

His lips returned to her temple, the kiss longer, lingering. “You are a fool.” They slid down to her cheek. “Do you not know what will happen?” Lyanna turned her face to the side until his lips ghosted near the corner of her mouth. She shrugged.

“I’ll know if you show me.” It seemed to her that what was to happen was that aught which her brothers scrupulously avoided speaking of in her presence. Rather annoyingly, as they were never careful enough to avoid the matter altogether if she was close by. Thus she was aware of only the fact that they would lie together in a special manner. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

His lips touched hers at long last. Lyanna started, the movement sending her flush against him. The arms that had circles her released their hold only for one of the hands to climb upwards until it rested just beneath her bosom. His other hand was upon her hip, fingers digging into her skin through the clothing. Rhaegar pulled away. “Are you frightened now?”

Nay, but she was annoyed. Instead of speech, she followed his path until her lips pressed against his. Having neither the skill nor the control, Lyanna was silently relieved when he deepened the kiss on his own. He should be able to tell at least that much. “I am not going anywhere,” she declared after he released her a second time. “I know not what game you play, but it won’t scare me away.”

She stood slowly, unsure of what would follow, but determined to not lose. Rhaegar, still seated, looked at her with a straight face. “There are some thing regret cannot ever undo.” It seemed a lifetime passed between his word and his deeds. He stood as well and reached for her. She raised her face towards his invitingly.

Unable or unwilling to resist, Rhaegar complied, hand settling on her wais, the drugging motions of his lips enough to melt her bones. A rush of chilled air smoothed against her ankles as the hem of her kirtle and shift climbed higher. The tip of his tongue pressed against her lower lip gingerly. She gasped at the touch and it proved more than enough of an invitation for the appendage to begin exploring. A shiver ran down her spine, settling at the base with a pleasant burn.

The kiss broke so that her garments might be flung away. The reality of the situation crashed down upon her. Rhaegar had the right of it. If she allowed it to continue, there was no path of return. But the again, was it not too late anyhow?

He was looking at her face. Lyanna gazed back at him, lips struggling to form words. Rhaegar neither helped, nor hindered. He waited upon her word, upon her sign. So she walked to him. That was the single most difficult step she’d ever taken, but Lyanna dropped the arms she’d not realised had come up to cover her protectively and caught one of his hands.

There was naught else to be said. The dim light springing from the fire pit splashed dark shadows over the walls, which swirled and twisted in an ancient dance.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you can fill in the rest.


	11. Things Go Bump In The Night

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was not an entirely foreign occurrence to wake to a pounding head and excessive warmth. Rhaegar supposed he ought to feel abashed. He was not. Good gods, he’d needed a drink, much like he needed to breathe, if he was to face Lyanna. And face her he had to even as his insides quivered. The matter was, much to his chagrin, that whenever she was close by, all his senses focus on her, narrowing to that single point. All because, in her innocence, the girl had crossed a few lines.

The drink must have done him some good because, in spite of the dull ache in his head, he felt relaxed and he had had a most satisfying dream. Much of the details eluded him, but he recalled enough to hope he’d madder no sounds during the night, lest he disturb Lyanna and his brother.

A silk-like touch shifted against his side, sliding upon naked skin. He murmured appreciatively, enjoying the caress. Until his mind caught up that was.

Bared flesh.  

Jarred from the nest of warmth, Rhaegar’s eyes opened wide as his head shifted to the side, hoping against hope that he’d not done what he thought he had. Greeted with Lyanna’s sleeping face, he held the sight for but a moment, before his gaze moved lower to her slender neck, falling to a flushed point. Blood leeched away at alarming speed as he surveyed a rounded shoulder peeking from beneath the mound of furs. He recalled vague sounds of distress.

Some devil beleaguered him until his grip on the furs was firm. He dragged the covering away, exposing himself and his companion both to the chilly morning air. And he saw his work, of course he did, stomach clenching painfully at the sliver of blood. A thin line against the inside of her thigh drew a small path.

Lyanna murmured something, the gibberish incoherent in his confounded state. Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes, the low light from a barely burning fire enough to cast a warm glow over them. “Rhaegar?” Voice atremble, her limbs searched for his form as sleep-blurred vision cleared. She yawned and shivered. “It’s cold.” He wanted to answer, or even cover her back. But he could not move.

Her eyes widened up at him as she no doubt realised she could make him out with perfect clarity. He expected some sort of recriminations from her, or demands or even a good dose of weeping. Lyanna rolled her shoulders instead and turned upon her back, stretching as she’d been doing ever since they shared the cot. Only, unclothed, she presented another image entirely. “I really am cold,” she let him know, slowly rising to a sitting position. “What is amiss?”

She had to ask. “I–“ His tongue felt oddly thick in his mouth. An after-effect of too much drink, but not truly. “Gods. I don’t even know what to say to you.”

Worry poked through her surprised mien. As if only then made aware of her nudity she drew her arms over her chest. “You were perfectly eloquent last night.” Rhaegar was certain he’d blanched even further. She took notice of it. Her eyes narrowed. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I hurt you.” He’d not meant to say it, if only because what was unacknowledged could be forgotten. “I am so very sorry.”

Confusion crossed her features then. “Hurt me? Aye, I suppose there was some pain.” The flush travelling her skin glided down her neck, sliding even lower. He gulped softly. He was only a man, after all. “But it was better after.” The admission was quiet, as if she was not all that comfortable making it. Her blush deepened.

He’d jumped to conclusions all on his own. Relief slammed into him, not quite offering back the years of his life that had been taken off by the scare. “It was?”

A disapproving look was levelled his way. Lyanna’s lips pursed. She did not want to speak the words. Amusement shifted the balance of the scene slightly. Rhaegar reached out for her, tentatively. She allowed the touch upon her shoulder and leaned in. “I am still cold.” Her hand lowered from her chest. “Warm me.”

It was the relief, else he would have had quite a bit to say to her ordering him about, but Rhaegar nodded slowly and pulled her towards him gently, sliding his arm around her waist. “I’ll warm you.” She titled her head back slightly at his approach, closing her eyes in anticipation. He fused his lips to hers in a feather-like touch, one hand resting on her hip, the other sliding from her shoulder down to a pert breast. His fingers splayed over the soft flesh. Lyanna gave a low moan and shifted against him, pressing harder into his palm.  

“Still cold?” he asked, a faint wicked trace resting beneath the words. Her eyes opened. She gazed at him mutely. The hand on hip moved up and down languorously. The one on her breast have a soft squeeze. “Well?”

Her breath hitched. “Cold,” she answered, pressing even harder into him. Thus he simply drew her farther over until she straddled his hips. “Better. But not quite warm yet,” Lyanna managed, widening her stance to wrap her legs around him. It was his turn to shudder. But Rhaegar simply held her, moving his arms until they’d embraced her tightly to him.

With the slow ebb of panic and desire, he could make out the coolness as well. Searching around with his hand, he gripped whichever corner of warm pelt had made it between his fingers and dragged it over. Lyanna disengaged from his slowly, understanding they were to move. Once both had managed to tangle satisfactorily beneath the covers drawn over, he suspected she would close her eyes once more and sleep, knowing fully well she did not enjoy rising early.

But his lover had other plans it would seem. “Rhaegar?” she called out softly, this close her breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Do you sleep?”

“I am trying,” he confirmed. Only he knew he’d not be sleeping anytime soon. Not until his body was settled. And that would take quite a bit.

“But–“ Whatever she’d meant to say was lost in a deep sigh. One of her hands moved down his chest, stopping somewhere around his middle. In spite of the muscles jumping beneath her touch, he kept his body as still as he could. If she slid her hand any lower; well that would be rather thrilling, in a most inappropriate way. “Have I annoyed you?”

The unexpected question jostled him away from less than pure thoughts. He sobered somewhat. “By lying here by my side?” Rhaegar chuckled. “You’ve done naught to merit censure. Why the sudden worry?” He turned his head to the side, sliding his lips against her forehead in a fond gesture. Yet tension did not leave her.

“It’s doing that again,” she said after a few moments more. This time, as if to make her point, she nudged against him with her fingers, a light touch. But it proved to be more than enough to make him jump out of his skin and sitting, all in the span of on heartbeat. “So why won’t you touch me? Or if you are tired, I could,” she trailed off. Rhaegar doubted he’d had either the time or the inclination to show her what to do. “What did I do?”

She followed his ascension, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head against the back of his shoulder. One side of her body was tightly set against him. A choked groan left his lips. What had she done? He couldn’t even begin to explain. Nevertheless, he had to make matters clear to her.

“You did not do aught,” he said after the lull in conversation. “Naught at all in fact. Believe me when I say I do want to touch you.” And do a good deal more besides. “But this was your first time. Touching you again might cause you pain.” Especially when he could not be certain how exactly he’d gone about divesting her of her maidenhead. Damn him for drinking heavily.

Lyanna was quiet as she, presumably, absorbed his explanation. He felt her move a few times, the drag of her skin over his not helping with the aroused state Rhaegar found himself in, but he could not bring himself to protest. Warm lips pressed into his shoulder, the kiss slightly moist. He felt it all over though. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from turning around and burying her beneath him, he tried to find something to grab hold of before sanity fled him.

And then she spoke.

“I’ve thought about it.” How young she sounded. Her hold lessened somewhat. “It does not hurt anylonger. Not at all. Not even when I move. We could try.” More trouble than she was worth, indeed, Rhaegar thought mockingly, allowing himself to fall back as she pulled out of the way. Straws crunched. Lyanna was still sitting up, leaning over his slightly, the curtain of her hair blocking most of the light.

He took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm himself. It was damned difficult to accomplish with her staring like that. “If it hurts, at all, you must let me know,” he murmured. She nodded. “Eve the faintest of pain, you hear?”

“Aye, if it hurts I’ll let you know.”  It was the smile on her face that did it for him. Rhaegar cradled the side of her face in his palm, urging her down towards him. She let go, crashing her lips to his with no finesse to speak of. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her to him as his tongue traced the seam of her lower lip. She let him in soon enough.

The thrust of his tongue was a mild simulation of another action entirely. Half on him by that point, Lyanna let out a small giggle as he encouraged her to mount. The soft brush of hair against him caused a hiss to leave his tightly clenched throat. She searched out for one of his hands and pulled it to her chest. He rolled them both over and bent his head over her chest. Lyanna held him there managing to lock one leg around his waist, arching her back. He pulled back at her gasp and gave her a long look.

Darkened eyes watched him, the slight glassiness causing a smile to appear on his face. “No pain?” He was between her legs, pressing softly ahead.

“No pain,” she rasped, pulling on his arm. “Rhaegar.” The plea rattled him. Still, he kept his pace even, sliding in inch by inch, until he was all the way in, trembling like a newborn lamb. She simply wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly. Breath rasping in his ear, Lyanna coiled her muscles into a fist-tight grip and he very nearly choked at that. “Please.”

He tried his best to move slowly, not to cause her pain or discomfort, but all his efforts were met with a staunch, frankly bone-melting, resistance from Lyanna until he could do little other than lose his head to the moaning and whimpering, all the while wondering what he’d done to deserve this bliss.

Shattering at the end, he anchored her against him for the last waves, cooling sweat causing their bodies to stick together. Lyanna leg fell away gently, breathing still laboured when he pressed his head to her wildly beating heart. She cradled him without protest, remaining still until he disengaged from her.

Then, as though coming to herself once more, she smiled an impish smile, flashing her teeth. He grinned back, not quite certain of what he ought to say. Or even do. She never broke the silence either, just rolled into him, throwing an arm over his waist, burying her head in his chest. Rhaegar brushed her hair back, feeling over the damp roots and sighed his way into sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Arthur was, as he was wont to be at all given times when aught he found strange occurred, stoically seeing to his task with becoming diligence. That would have not bothered Rhaegar at all, except that he’d seen the look on the man’s face when Lyanna had exited the hut, a little after him. And she had certainly not pulled any punches with her behaviour.

Nevertheless, Lyanna had walked off in the direction of a beckoning Dalla. No doubt she’d be occupied with the questions of the womenfolk for the foreseeable future. Thus he could pursue his own investigation. “Dayne, will you talk or do I have to pry it from it?”

His friend turned to him with a long look. “I’d rather thought we were past the age when we talked about it. But if you really want to share…” His stare slid to Lyanna, who had in the meantime reached Dalla.

It was a jest. He understood it. Rhaegar even found it mildly amusing. But for all that, he bristled like a wild thing at the suggestion, attracting a knowing smile from the other man. “No sharing then? Pity.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. He glared in return. “Well then, now that we’ve established Lady Lyanna will grace only your bed, shall I express my shock or my concern?”  

“Either of which, I gather, have been contrived specially for this occasion.” Unabashed, the knight gave a low chuckle. “Go on then, Dayne, I fear with my nights so thoroughly filled, I won’t have much time to hear of your concerns.”

“Best hold those reins tight, my friend,” Arthur warned, clapping a hand to Rhaegar’s back. ‘’Tis only just noon, you know.” The admonishment’s jesting vein required little answer. “There is, however, aught I would say. About your Lady Lyanna,” he clarified when Rhaegar gave a nod.

A slight wariness crept into his heart then. “What?” Arthur, as far as he knew, did not repeat rumours, nor did he give unfounded advice. Still, he would be speaking about Lyanna. The fragile bond was yet too new a thing to be tested.

“Don’t bare your fangs,” the Kingsguard laughed. “Rhaegar, I do not intent to insult the woman. Have you considered what she will think of your revenge? ‘Tis all I wanted to ask. Lord Stark, he never seemed very close to her, but there was never the coldness of court between them.”

He understood well enough what his friend implied. “This changes naught.” He gestured vaguely between himself and the general direction in which Lyanna had disappeared. “Lord Stark is still my enemy; but not her. She doesn’t have to be.”

“Does that mean she won’t be?” Arthur goaded. “Between you and her kin, who do you think she will choose? ‘Tis all simpler here. You took her to bed and she is content enough with it, but once we pass the Wall once more, do you think it will still be enough?” From the tone of voice he fairly grasped what the man was saying.

Naturally, he knew that when he crossed the Wall once more matters could not remain as they stood at the moment. But his mind had shied away from those considerations even within the first days of companionship. Why brother with that? In the vast frozen wilderness, Lyanna was his and that was all that mattered. He would explain it to her; she would understand. Surely she was not unfair in judgement and could well see that treason called for revenge.      

Arthur sighed and shook his head. The pressure on Rhaegar’s back eased. “If it comes to it, my friend, you could well order her compliance.” What a horrible thought. Rhaegar shuddered. He knew very well that if all went well and he managed to wrest back everything that had been taken from him his power would be near absolute. Except that he had no wish to order Lyanna’s compliance anymore than he desired Lysene pox.

“I am not my father, Dayne,” he replied curtly, shaking the unease away. Nay; she would understand, eventually

“Aye, but I’ll still be a Kingsguard,” his friend offered. “’Tis just a matter of choosing a place for her, Rhaegar.” He made it sound so easy. “How she chooses to deal with it, is not aught you have control over. Thus the question is, how far you would be willing to push her.”

But Rhaegar was already shaking his head vehemently. “Nowhere near as far as you suggest. I would rather,” he trailed off, catching a glimpse of Val rushing past one of the huts, Viserys swift on her heel.

“You would rather?” Arthur prompted, not looking away from him for a moment. Damn the man for knowing him so well. Could the lot of them just stop questioning him and go along with his decisions quietly?

“It does not signify,” he made up his mind at long last. “I won’t speak of this now.” He waved his hand in dismissal and glanced towards the dirt road which had been cleaned at dawn. He breathed in deeply, gaze holding to that fixed point in spite of knowing naught would come of it. “Is there aught else?”

“As it happens,” Arthur drawled, profoundly unimpressed, “during the time you were setting up your happy home, the men spotted a riding party. It wasn’t the Night’s Watch by garb, but I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“How close?” It crossed his mind to ignore the issue entirely, but men from the Wall or even men from the kingdoms would have little trouble flattening the small village to the ground.  

“Not close enough to discover us for some time yet, but it’s a tricky matter. Especially if they gain knowledge of the ground.” The knight kicked at a stone. “It would be a pity to destroy all this.” He nodded to their surroundings.

He nodded his approval. “We can draw them away. We leave come nightfall.”

“I expect ‘tis not quite the satisfactory fill you were hoping for this night.” His friend had never been known for his mercy.

“I’m close enough to murder as if, Arthur. Don’t push it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur being Arthur is probably the thing I like most about this fic.


	12. The Trouble Is

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna did not suppose she would be told much by the look upon Rhaegar’s face. She resigned herself to lack of knowledge for some time yet and turned around to the thick wooden board, knife in hand. Dalla had skinned the last of the rabbit’s pelt and was without, filling the bucket, leaving only her and Rhaegar in the hut. Ser Arthur had taken himself off to some unknown task, which Lyanna could not guess and was not entirely invested into learning, as it were; the children were playing by the river, no doubt making a mess of their garb. She sighed to herself at that, battling not to shake her head as well.

“But you have just returned,” was her main complaint by the time he reached her, hand sliding beneath her elbow in a loose hold. The knife’s blade came down upon the soft flesh, parting the mass in two equal pieces. “And the men are bound to be tired as well. Is it truly necessary?” Without evading his grasp, she continued with her task.

There was still some blood to be washed of, she considered, lifting one of the pieces for inspection. The muscle was yet soft, kept as it had been between slabs of ice. She placed it back down upon the wood and rolled her neck softly. His other hand touched the back of her neck, fingers pressing into the sore point. Lyanna hissed.

“It is truly necessary,” he answered softly, but equally firm. The thumb was rubbing at the spot then, relieving the ache some. “We shan’t be gone long.” He’d given a flimsy justification, which she had accepted with little question. There were times when he was willing to share with her some of his reasoning and some when he would not.

“Well then,” she said, a small shrug shaking her shoulders. “I suppose I’ve little to do but wait.” The knife landed on the board with a soft sound. She turned around and locked her arms around him without actually touching her hands to his form. “And you must return as soon as you may, aye?” Lyanna smiled sweetly up at him, wiling his agreement to reach her ears.

Rhaegar leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to her lips. Without moving to prolong the contact, she was soon abandoned. Satisfied with that much, she returned to the meat and the plain dish she was prepared to work upon.

“Aye.” His concurrence elicited a humming noise from her. “Stay with Dalla and Val until my return. Don’t bother with the washing and sweeping. You can do those after I’ve returned.”

“Come now,” she laughed, “what could possibly happen to me from a little sweeping.” But Lyanna perceived her amusement was not shared. “Is there aught I should be fearful of?” She’d finished cutting the pieces.

Dalla came in then, forcing the two of them apart. Or rather encouraging a bit of distance. Lyanna was not truly certain why she pulled away, except that aught about the stares thrown their way were slightly unnerving. Not in a manner which left her breathless with fear, gasping, but rather a sense of displacement. As if she were not quite where she ought to be. The singularly peculiar feeling wrapped around her, leaving her mind in a state of suspicion. She waved away the discomfort. It was not as though she’d contacted the ague. No good would come of grasping the matter quite so hard between her hands.

The young wilding poured water in a small bowl. Lyanna set to washing the meat a second time, carefully polishing the light coloured surface. Rhaegar left the two of them to their work; the only sign of his departure a slight rustling. Dalla offered her a slight smile, wide eyes following what she presumed to be Rhaegar’s retreating form.  

“Is aught the matter?” she questioned lightly. The bowl tipped slightly to the side, allowing a few drops of water to fall onto the ground. “You look at me so.”

“So?” Dalla intoned, gripping the same bowl to keep it from falling. “What does it mean?” And indeed she saved Lyanna from having to go through the same motion once more. Her eyes were yet upon Lyanna, the glow unwavering.

Afflicted even further by such fervour, she astonishingly enough managed to swallow a nervous giggle. “So, so,” she repeated. “It means it makes me uneasy.” The revelation did not seem to cow Dalla any. She only leaned further in, as if in wait for some daring admission. But Lyanna had none to make. It was not her primary objective to give anyone aught to speak of over a bowl of broth. “It means I would rather not speak of it.” Secrets were difficult enough to keep as it were.

Dalla shook her head, as if to let her know she understood not the manner of fears. Lyanna did not know them herself, but she kept quiet nevertheless. The two of them worked together, as Lyanna reasoned through her unease, eyes lingering just upon her hands, not straying as they would in the past, over other objects. If Dalla found it strange she made no mention of it, although Lyanna was certain she could feel an amused stare falling upon her every one in a while.   

The pitiable condition lasted until the children’s arrival at which point Lyanna knew it would be better to relinquish any such notions which might keep her from acting her usual self. Food was served sooner that it usually might have been and conversation remained stilted throughout the meal with Viserys and Val contributing primarily to the detriment of all others. Just as well, Lyanna thought, for she never quite managed to bring herself out of the queer mood which had found her. Uncertain of whether the stillness was a response to her own frame of mind or some other reason stood behind it, she failed to make mention of it for fear of further upsetting the balance.

Once they were done, Lyanna had little to do but speak a few parting words to Rhaegar, ignore the knowing look in Arthur’s eyes and set to washing the dishes quietly, undisturbed even when Dalla bore the children away. Alone in the hut, not for a moment did she think upon Rhaegar’s earlier words. And why should she? Strange as they’d been, she’d assumed it had to do with the shift on their bond, not any danger lurking about. The village was nestled in a small valley, never quite in sight for those who did not know what to look for.

Stretching out, Lyanna glanced towards the door to see Dalla poking her head in once more. “Come along?” she asked. “The light is scarce.”

The fire in the pit was still burning, casting shadows upon the ground. She gazed towards it for just a few moments before she gave an answer. “’Tis more than enough light for one last sweep.” A smile graced her lips. “Go along, Dalla. I shan’t be long.” The distance was not great between the two huts and she needed to make certain she’d left naught out.

The girl laughed and nodded her head in understanding. “We will wait.”

Alone yet again, Lyanna picked up the makeshift broom and swept the ground for any dust she might have missed during the day. A peculiar choice given light was lesser, but Lyanna knew she would not fall asleep for some time yet. It would be best to court exhaustion and if that could not be had than at least a satisfactory fatigued state which would allow her to lie down easy in the knowledge that before long Rhaegar would return and all would be well once more. Suppressing a low sigh, she inspected the floors. It was the best she could do, Lyanna decided before resting the handle against the wall once more.

Without she could hear shuffling about; the dogs, no doubt, in search of food, scraps that had been thrown away, such as thick white bones after their sweetness had been sapped into thin broth. Lyanna was fairly certain someone had made broth for the scent of it carried over, despite the fact that her own fire had toiled under a pot of stew.

Making for the straw palette, Lyanna knelt by the heap of furs and sorted them in two piles; long furs and shorter ones. She folded all of them into neat squared and lifted the light burden to her chest. A long howl cut through the relative silence. Far from jumping at the sound Lyanna took it for the nightly symphony gracing the men and women safe in their beds,

Winterfell was slightly different in that regard. There the night brought a manner of heavy silence. Not for fear of some great horrors, although Lyanna expected that would have been exciting. Nay, the stables were out in the yard and beasts took their rest there, no matter that they were dogs or cats or horses. Might be the cats would manage to sneak into the kitchens, but with how cook locked the place up, she much doubted it.

Her work done, Lyanna cast one last glance to her surroundings. She would take the furs to Dalla’s hut and then return to douse the fire. Or she could simply kick the bucket over and not bother with a second trip. Why hadn’t she taken it out in the first place? One long suffering sigh later, water sloshed onto thee ground, running into the small pit, diluted fat and dirt producing a strong odour. Still, there was naught to do and little to be gained by waiting about.

Lyanna made for the entrance. Without, starts peppered the heavy curtain of the night, clinging to the inky fold like a child to its mother’s skirts. It was a lovely sight considering the other night had only brought clouds. Although Lyanna supposed she’d not minded that overly much ensconced in warm arms as she’d been.

Steam poured out past her lips as she took in the fresh, crisp air, enjoying the stillness. Was there any place more peaceful, she wondered, blowing a away a bit of hair that had fallen into her face. But the tendril, obstinate beyond belief, returned presently, settling in a vertical line before her face, barely touching the tip of her nose. Gripping the furs one-armed, she caught the hair between triumphant digits and pushed it out of the way, behind her ear. Best get going before the snarks and grumkins undoubtedly lurking about decided they fancied making a good meal out of her, Lyanna jested with herself as aught touched upon the back of her mind, causing a frisson to run down her spine.

Old tales aside even in such quiet villages, wandering about mindlessly was not encouraged. She took a step forth just as something caught her attention, a blur in her peripheral vision, moving at alarming speed, as though someone had rolled over in the thick layer of snow. Instinctively she turned her head in its direction. But there was naught there.

Lyanna convinced herself it had been a dog, might be resting a little while. Crunching came from behind her. Soft snow was being flattened. It was not the light step of a beast, rather it sounded like hard soles battling newly fallen snow. The same sound Ser Arthur’s paces produced when he wore his erstwhile footwear.

The presence was obvious soon enough. Lyanna only managed to widen her lips a fraction before aught heavy muffled her voice. It was a gloved hand, the smooth leather carrying its distinctive smell. She struggled to break free but another arm had wrapped around her middle and whoever was behind her possessed the element of surprise. Moreover a swift kick to her leg caused her to fall awkwardly, harming her ankle in the process., dropping her furs as well She heard no telltale crack but burning pain flared to life as she was dragged away.

Despite her most valiant of attempts, she still found herself unable to do much other than trash about. The pain I her injured leg kept her from attempting to kick back and her captor was a good deal taller. Butting her head into his chest would not help her. The damned sod, why couldn’t he have lifted her slightly up? Her ruminations, nevertheless, held little value in the face of the fact that, just like Rhaegar had worried, she’d been whisked off. He would never let her live it down. Inwardly, she sighed. Outwardly she redoubled her efforts.

“Anymore of that and I’ll take care of your other leg too.” The voice was young. Was this some Wildling looking for a mate? Did the fool not know she already had someone? With her foot a useless, flesh-boiling mess beneath her, Lyanna was forced to make do with a rather hopeful fantasy of Rhaegar skewering the man. But it was not coming together. The man was wearing leather gloves and had not taken her to the empty hut. “I’ll let go, but if you scream, I’ll club you over the head, lord’s daughter or nay.”

And there it was, the knowledge to dispel any hope of grand adventure. Lyanna shuddered. She gave a weak nod. “Are you certain? I’ve broken a few sculls, you know. ‘Twould be a pity to crush yours with a blow.”

Once more she nodded, this time imbuing the motion with all the certainty she could summon. Her throat worked under a buried impulse. He let go after a few moments, enough to turn her around. In the darkness, however, she could not make out much of his features, only that he was young. Before long she found herself slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain, the position bringing to mind another like instance.

He carried her through the thick snow, but not very far. On two healthy legs she could have made the journey back at a run speedily enough. Rather it seemed to her he was in no hurry, which was strange given that he would face a most painful, and satisfying in her eyes, death as soon as Rhaegar returned and heard of it. Which he would, for Dalla would come looking.

Keeping her council, Lyanna lifted her head, looking about for aught which she might make use of. Alas the footprints were filling once more as snow drifted from above and all around there was naught to be seen except for spare trees decorating the white blanket. The village had disappeared behind a hill. She cursed her luck, fuming silently. She ought to have asked Dalla to leave the knife behind. Or to stay with her. It was less likely she would have been accosted. After all, be he man or beast, if a few of the women jumped upon him he would find it decidedly difficult to escape. Alas, she was to suffer the consequences of her folly and pray the gods naught bad came upon its heels.

“Finally. I thought I’d give the soul up waiting,” a familiar voice called out. “Wait, why are you carrying her like that?”

“Benjen?” she murmured, not quite believing what she was hearing. But the squeaky quality of the boy’s slowly deepening voice she could not be mistaking. A few moon turns away from him would not have caused her to forget either. With all her strength she pushed against her captor’s shoulder, the momentum helping her upset his balance. Benjen called out her name and then she had no doubt it was her youngest sibling.

“Benjen, not so loud,” admonished another familiar voice as she was helped onto her feet and turned around carelessly. Lyanna whimpered at the pain despite having lifted her foot off the ground. She came face to face with a pale Ned, whose arms were firmly around her. “What have you done to her?”

She was not certain what to make of the look he sported, but she knew, immediately, that she had to clarify for them the situation. “Are the lot of you mad? I have to go back, now.” She cut over the beginning of an explanation, drawing all eyes upon her.

“She’s overset,” her older brother surmised, in turn not allowing her to finish. “Lyanna, we’ll get you home. Brandon is out there looking for you as well.”

Brandon was about? Lyanna could feel the blood draining from her face. That was not good. “You dolts, I am trying to tell you, I have to go back. To the village. I cannot leave. I have to warn him.”

“Warn who?” Benjen questioned. “And what happened to your leg? And your clothing?”

“You ask too many questions,” she snapped. “Ned, please, listen to me, I am not at all overset. But there are things that have happened and I cannot return with you. Best you take me back now.” But she could well make out he did not understand. “Ned, the Prince is back there. I cannot leave him.”

“Blessed news!” her youngest brother cried out. “The King shan’t stalk the halls in murderous rage now. Why didn’t you bring that one as well?” That he demanded of the man who’d carried her to them.

Lyanna rolled her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and counted silently, trying not to mind the explanation being given in the background. Once she was certain her wishes would be carried out, she opened her mouth, “Shut up, you bloody fools! The Prince is in no danger and I am returning.”

“You were kidnapped by barbarians,” Ned attempted to calm her. “We are just glad to know both of you survived the ordeal.”

“Ordeal?” she echoed. “Ned, the Prince was never in any danger. At no point. HIs own brother would never harm him.”

Her claim was met with stunned silence. Benjen would not recall, she knew, if she herself did not. But with Ned there was yet hope. Willing her brother’s memory, she felt around her wrist for the beads Rhaegar had gifted her. Ned was the level-headed brother. He would understand, he always did. She would explain it so he understood.

“I was never in any danger either,” said softly, just to break the tension. “Look.” The sleeve of her dress rose, revealing neat rows of carefully crafted glass beads.

Someone gasped.     

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Of Men Brave And Maidens Aggrieved

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blood rushed to her cheeks at the fierce scrutiny. “What have you done?” His tone matched the look on his face perfectly. Never had Lyanna seem aught an eerie readiness in her brother’s look. She defied him with silence, crossing her arms over her chest. “Lyanna, either you tell me or you’ll be twittering the tune to Brandon’s face.” That gave her pause. Not enough to wring a confession from her lips, but for the first time she’d begun her tale, Lyanna sensed that she ought to thread with care. He would not like what she had to say. “And I assure you he’ll have no such care as I have displayed for your sensibilities.”

Somewhere farther ahead, Benjen and his companion were searching for a safe spot from which to find game. Lyanna peeled her eyes to them momentarily. She gathered her frayed courage, whatever remained of it after the thorough interrogation her brother had heaped upon her mercilessly. To her utter consternation she found that not even Ned was prepared to tolerate her every whim, although to be sure he’d been more patient than Brandon would have been. Still, what she was about to say to him would likely send him into a frenzy.  She sighed deep in her chest and returned her eyes to her older brother’s.

“Very well then, I am wife to him.” His round eyes elicited the smallest snort of satisfaction. “There, I’ve said it. I am his wife.” By a manner of speaking, as it were. Lyanna was well aware they’d exchanged no vows and at best her situation was that of a handfast bride. She’d lived with the man after all. Hardly could she deny she acted wife to him in that capacity.

The dull shade of crimson on her brother’s face matched might be her own mien. “Wife? You bedded him?” Leave it to Ned to put emphasis where it was needed. She gave one hesitant nod. “Good gods; this one won’t wash. Brandon will be furious.”

“At what?” she snapped. “There was no wrong committed.”

At that Ned looked even more aggrieved. “Be sensible, Lya. What will they think if they find out you were willing? Better to let them think ‘twas coercion.” He had a point. Whatever plans her father had for her, and likely they included a swift marriage at this point, whoever her prospective groom was, he’d likely take more issue with a willing participation on her side.

“I cannot do aught like that.” It was no lie. Nay, whatever the truth of his betrayal of the old King and her family’s involvement, Lyanna could not simply pretend to have been violated. “I do not think you understand, brother. I wanted his protection and I traded what I had. There was never a moment in which I felt forced. Didn’t you say a man’s honour is his most prized possession? Well then, do not make a thief out of your only sister.” The plea reverberated between them. He swallowed with some difficulty. Lyanna did not allow him to escape her gaze. “Please, Ned. I have to go back. Just let me say my farewells at the very least.”

“The words you say are true,” he offered and her hope swelled, “to your own mind at least.” She froze. “Even if he were to see you one last time, what good would that do? Nay, I shall see to it that a message is sent or aught in the manner. But you are not going back.”

Teeth clenched so hard her jaw felt as if it were at the point of snapping, Lyanna shook her head vehemently. “Don’t think I won’t find a way to return on my own.”

He chuckled, the sound bitter. Her threat was waved away. “Not on that leg, you won’t.” As if to demonstrate, he touched the swollen ankle. Lyanna hissed at the pain, the shrill sound slithering forth from between teeth. “There is three of us and one on you, sister, and this time I see no weapon for you to swing around.”

Even recognising the truth of his speech, Lyanna shook her head harder. It was a matter of biding her time, she told herself. And might be she would not need to walk as far as that. Rhaegar would surely come in search of her. Someone would see the furs fallen to the ground and figure out aught was amiss. Dalla would know she was to have made for her hut. Surely they would piece it all together.  Heavy droplets slid down her cheeks. Lyanna brushed them away with a swipe of her palm, unwilling to show such distress before her brother. Ned’s hand reached out for her but she simply drew away with a downward twist of the lips added for good measure. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me,” she warned.

“I just wish to help you stand,” he said. The gentle manner irked her. At the moment all she wanted was to be mad. But how could she stoke the fires of her grudge when he insisted upon showing he cared.    

“I’ll stand on my own,” she snapped mercilessly, hoping to drive him away. But her brother was already dragging her up, murmuring something about her ankle. Lyanna elbowed him hard. Air whooshed out in a staggering breath. “I would rather suffer to break the damned thing than count on your aid.”

Still, Ned held her fast. “You are angry now, I understand. Try to calm yourself though, sister. I would not wish for us to attract eyes our way.” Eyes that might very well not be Rhaegar’s. Lyanna shivered. “Come, you’ll be riding with me until we reach camp. After, I am sure Brandon can find you a horse.”

Resisting him at that point would be foolish. She allowed herself to be hoisted on the saddle. Ned climbed up after her, one arm securing her to him as he guided the beast in what she presumed was the camp’s direction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dalla’s brow quivered. “I cannot say aye or nay. I thought at first he was looking for a wife and had prepared my knife to run after them.” Her eyes were not trained on Arthur who’d asked the question, but on Rhaegar’s whose curled fists indicated much too well the way he felt. “And the he reached a small camp, and there were two men there. They knew her and she knew them.”

“How can you be certain?” Rhaegar spoke, his gaze finally leaving the floors be. “Did you hear them speak?”

“Nay. I was too far and daren’t come any closer for fear on being caught. But one of them held her to him.” To demonstrate she wrapped her arms around Rhaegar in an intimate manner. She let go with a shrug. “They spoke for a little while and it seemed to me an argument, but then one of them brought the horses and off they went.”

There was not much else that could be said. Arthur watched as the young girl finished with the food and marvelled at how routine remained unbroken even in such circumstances. He turned an eye to Rhaegar. As expected, his friend’s expression let him know the man was deliberating.

It seemed strange to him. Lady Lyanna was a lot of things, not the least of them being annoying and at times unthinking. But she was not a liar. Not a good one at any rate. He was fairly certain he would have noticed if she were feigning her attachment. Mulling over the thought, Arthur followed Rhaegar in sitting upon the ground. Together they waited until Dalla had prepared the food and given each a bowl. After, she made her way without in search of the children, leaving only them.

His friend placed the bowl on the ground and stared after the departed girl. He wanted to follow, to press for even more than she’d given. It was instinctive knowledge. Aught Arthur did not have to ask. Still, he felt compelled to intervene. “It is not a wise idea. She’s already disclosed all she knew.” He spooned a mouthful of the thin soup. Hot liquid burned its way down into the pit of his stomach. “What do you want to do?”

Uncomprehending eyes turned his way. Arthur clarified. “About Lady Lyanna. She has a fair advantage already. If we ride fast we could still catch up.”

“And then what?” the other spat, as though the words were poison. “Drag her back here? Break her leg so she won’t escape again?” Disgust snaked its way into his expression. He stood, taking his bowl with him. The contents were spilled back into the pot. “I cannot force willingness.” The wood dropped to the ground, carelessly abandoned.  

Arthur shrugged. He had the right of it. “I thought you’d want answers.” Refraining from giving his own thoughts upon the matter, he stood as well, leaving his bowl half-full upon the ground. “A man is entitled to at least that much.”

Rhaegar snorted, the sort of sound that scoffed at the world itself. “The action itself is the answer.”  He was already reaching for the mead Dalla had brought. “Only a fool needs more answer than that.” The brew had been split between several flasks. He took a deep swing, downing what Arthur was sure to have been a little under a quarter of the contents. The Prince paused foe breath, and speech. “I am not a fool. Not her fool.”

He plopped himself back down, resting against the wall. Arthur reached for the flask. It was given up without a struggle. He drank a little as well. “Wouldn’t it be better to hear it from her own lips? If she wants to leave, ‘tis only fair she come to you and say the words to your face. Or, would you have kept her unwilling?”

“I would have persuaded her,” the younger man confessed grudgingly. “Anyway I knew how, I would have attempted to convince her.  But I am not my father.” They both paused at that. Arthur inspected his friend closely as Rhaegar looked down at his lap. “I thought I was not like him. Bad seed, I suppose.” A faint chuckle left his lips. “Who leaves like that, without a single words, if they don’t feel themselves mistreated?”

Blinking slowly, Arthur considered the question. “Have you mistreated her?” he shot back, returning the drink.

Just then Dalla returned with the children. His friend offered a pointed look, but Arthur’s attention had snapped to the boy whose despondent face was almost comical in the wake of what had been discussed. Two dragons pining after a brazen wolf. The gods keep him, but he could barely understand. Viserys ate slowly, without much of an appetite. The girl had no such problems, her sister neither. Between the two of them they finished in what seemed to be the blink of an eye.

Rhaegar’s patience gave way soon enough and he ordered them all out. Arthur had expected that. He gave Dalla a long look and beckoned her over with one hand, the other holding a torch. “It would have been better to sweeten your words,” he said after a moment of consideration. She frowned up at him and shook her head.

“Better that he knows what he’s dealing with. I just do not understand why he did not ride after.” The frown deepened.

“Make certain the children sleep and that he does not leave the hut,” he said in the end, looking about to the quiet cluster of homes. “I shall return as soon as I can.”

Startled she shook her head once more. “You cannot leave,” she hissed. “He would not approve. Besides, the woman is his. If he lets go ‘tis his choice.”

“Kneelers operate by different rules,” Arthur returned. “I will be back soon.” With that he turned his back towards the woman and left to find his horse.

The beast snorted at his approach and kicked its legs. He stroked its mane and whispered softly. “There now. Be a good boy.” Nostrils flaring, the horse reared. “Easy, easy. You and I shall go on a hunt.”  It was madness to venture out in the dark with naught but a sword, a torch and a horse for company, but there was no cure for it. Not until he’d either see why that woman had left or how to bring her back.

The place Dalla had indicated as having been a camp was easily recognisable. They’d left the remnants of a fire there and even unburned twigs. There had been no further snowfall, else the hoof prints would have long since been lost.  He urged his steed on through the thick snow, increasing his speed once he was certain they’d not used any trickery to hide their trail. Either a mistake on their part or some clever ploy to attract anyone who would follow into a trap. ‘Twas good that Arthur knew well enough to keep caution close at heart.

He rode throughout most of the night stopping every few hours for a short rest with the conviction that Lady Lyanna and whoever had stolen her away slept the night away. His suspicions were proven right when he came upon fresh tracks about midway through the new day.      

He dismounted and tied his horse to a heavy leaning branch. A sharp order left his lips and the beast threw its head back. He secured the knots and unsheathed Dawn, navigating through the mounds of snow with care. The closer he got the more sounds he heard. There was the crackling of fire and the loud voices of people. He stopped and listened attentively. It sounded as though an argument was being settled.  

Making his way through the trees, he steered clear of approaching too close. Lady Lyanna said aught unintelligible, the pitch of her voice rose so high Arthur could not help but wince. If anyone ever doubted the lady’s good health, one sample of those lungs at work and they’d be thoroughly convinced. A male voice followed, one that Arthur was not unfamiliar with. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening. Of course she would not have put up much of a fight. The realisation had him smothering a chuckle. Best to get the matter over with and bring her back to Rhaegar before the fool drowned himself with those flagons of mead.

Clambering over a fall trunk, he hurried in the direction of the voices, but before he could reach the camp proper, someone came upon him from the side. Arthur whirled around in time to deflect a blow with his blade, sending the young man a few steps back. He yelled out, the voices from somewhere ahead shushing.

He measured his opponent with a flicker of the eyes. No more than a boy, one of the black brothers by garb. Arthur raised his weapon. His foe followed suit. They stared one at the other for half a heart-beat before lunging into attack.

Their blades met just as Lady Lyanna called out for him. “Ser Dayne!”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Call the bloody man off,” she ordered, pinning her brother with a vicious look. Ned glared back at her, lips already curling to deliver a hearty refusal when Ser Dayne knocked the boy off his feet, sending him deep into a mound of snow.

“Mance, enough. Ser Dayne,” Ned acknowledged the knight with a nod, hand already resting on the sword he carried. Lyanna rolled her eyes. “To what end do you follow us?”

Arthur gave a soft smile, as though he found the interrogation most amusing. “I came for the lady.” Availing himself of the fact no opposition arose, he stepped further towards them. “She left without a word. Naturally, we were worried.”

“We?” He gripped the handle of his sword even harder, but Lyanna doubted Ned would actually bare it in provocation. She forced herself nearer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder just in case. “Who is this we you speak of, ser Dayne? Surely you have not betrayed your vows and held my sister against her her will.”

The knight chuckled. “I assure you, she was more than willing to stay. Were you not, lady?” Lyanna looked him in the eyes but did not reply. To what end would she speak? Instead she gripped her brother’s shoulder harder.  “Lost your voice, woman, or you courage?”

Bristling at his insulting tone, she hurled a curse his way, “Neither, cur, and you’d best keep a civil tongue in that head of yours.” The measured look she received in response prompted her to sigh. “And I told you, Ned, I was not unwilling.”

“There, she was not, as I told you, unwilling. ‘Tis considered ill-mannered to take what is not yours in these parts. My suggestion would be to hand the lady over.”

Her brother was already shaking his head even as she made to take a step forth. His arm blocked her way. “Over my dead body.”

“It can be arranged.” Ser Dayne held forth his weapon

The knight rolled his shoulders  in preparation and Lyanna was shoved back into Benjen’s arms. Luckily for her, this brother was not as strong, nor as concentrated as he ought to have been. Scrunching her eyes shut in preparation for pain, she slammed the heel of her good leg onto the front of his boot. He released her with a yelp of surprise and she toppled over, falling ungainly into a heap at his feet. She crawled away as fast as she could at a safe distance.

Using the firm earth as leverage she pushed herself to up, holding her weight on one foot only. “Will you stupid louts listen to me just once in your miserable lives and not drag us all into muck?” Her cry held everyone’s attention. Lyanna cleared her throat. “Ser Dayne, I want you to take me back to Rhaegar.” She nodded her head vigorously. “And I want my brothers to come with.”

“She’s gone mad,” Benjen exclaimed. No one followed the statement with aught, but for Lyanna who threw her brother a threatening stare.         

Ser Arthur seemed to be listening though, for he put his weapon away. “I cannot make them follow where they would not,” he said in the end. “But you, my lady, I’ll gladly take back.” He held one hand out and she, having moved far away from her brothers by then, hurried as best she could to his side.

“Aught is amiss in this story, Ned. And ‘tis our duty to find out what.”  He did not look especially thrilled, but Lyanna saw him nod and put away his own weapon.

“I’ll get the horses,” Benjen volunteered.

Mance crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve come all this way for nothing.” Likely he was still sore from the good trashing. Lyanna threw her head back in a belligerent move, daring him to try holding them back. “Your brother will be worried. He’ll come after us all.”

“Not if we cover our tracks. If that is aught you lot know how to do.” He glanced up at the skies. “It looks as though goof fortune is on our side. ‘Twill begin to snow soon.” The skies did look somewhat flinty. She breathed out in relief, but all the same Lyanna was somewhat put out by the reminder that Brandon lurked somewhere in these woods, waiting to catch them.

He would understand her even less than Ned had, and he’d be more than ready to challenge both Rhaegar and Ser Dayne. She knew her brother. He was an excellent fighter and she could not be expected to choose between kin and heart. She would not allow it to come to that.  

Ser Dayne looked down. “What happened to your leg?” he asked, no doubt taking note of her lilting gait. The limp must have been more pronounced with the pain cutting through her limb. She winced.

“I tripped,” Lyanna lied. Best not to sow discord.

He smiled. “You are not a very good liar. Your face betrays you. Never mind, I shan’t ask you would rather not speak of it, lady.” Arthur Dayne helped her along nevertheless, acting as though she was made of spun glass, for which she was more than grateful. The throbbing in her leg dimmed after the first few steps and she could limp along with relative ease.

Behind them her brothers and their companion whispered. She caught a glimpse of a pouch changing hands when she turned and pursed her lips. There was naught she could do thought as she was hoisted up like a rag doll into the knight’s arms and deposited on his steed.

“Ser Dayne, that is not at all proper,” Ned pointed out. “She is my sister, let her ride with me.”

The Dornishman flashed her brother a pointed stare. “I am not that much of a fool.” Grip securing her, he ordered them all to mount. “Unless you’d rather we stayed here until the devils take us all.” No one argued with that.

Finally, someone was listening to her for once. Aught told her it would turn out well.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. As The Crow Flies

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaegar made his way through the first of a long line of clearings. Behind him the clearing he’d just departed from was hidden from sight by a line of trees. He’s counted a fair number of them and wondered at how they should be so close to one another. The sun was near risen, the colour of ripe blood oranges spilling over soft-glittering fields of snow. Fortune had favoured him greatly. There’d been no storm during the nigh thus his journey had been, if not a direct path to success, than at the very least swift.

Ahead, the clearing closed into a thicket of trees, their number increasing as far as Rhaegar saw ahead. His courser whinnied, ears perking at the sound of aught he caught. The long hours must have tired the beast. With a grunt, he hied himself down and patted the corded muscles in the animal’s neck. Another sound left its mouth as it reared back. “Easy, easy,” Rhaegar attempted to calm his spooked companion. “There’s naught here which might harm us.”

He reached for the back of its neck, stroking up and down gently, the press neither too soft nor too strong. The horse shook, its coat gleaming as sunlight bathed it generously in shine and warmth. It whinnied and pounded the ground impatiently, hooves digging into solid ice. Someone or something was coming. Rhaegar strained his ears, a faint sound catching his attention. Nay, the horse was right to fear. There was aught heading their way.

Drawing his blade, he retreated a few steps as well, moving to the side, putting greater distance between himself and the now shivering shrubbery.  The violence trembling increased until from the undergrowth sprang forth a wild beast. The animal saw him just as he saw it, eyes meeting across the flat land.

It was a wolf, or more aptly a direwolf. The creature carried in its mouth a young, teeth clamped upon folds of soft fur. Wild gold and silver grey. He did not relax and neither did the wolf. Instead, it dropped the babe, which lay unmoving at its feet, and crouched, no doubt feeling his threat most keenly. Rhaegar’s gaze shifted from the snarling beast to the seemingly deceased pup. It would not have carried the little one all the way there if it’d thought it dead.  Nevertheless, there it was. As gone as the dragons.

Patience at an end, the direwolf’s massive form sprang from its coil, flying through the air. Before it could make contact with him though, his horse rammed itself into the oncoming enemy, momentum offering the perfect opportunity to rid the thing of balance. Muscled legs speared down, catching the fallen wolf in the side.

The creature rolled over, rising weakly. It shook the snow off of its pelt. Blood poured from the slash it now bore and mingled with the pristine snow. The stain was violently bright. But the direwolf was not yet done. Despite the injury it sustained, the foe merely snapped its jaws at them and took another leap. This time, the horse was its target.

Instinctively, Rhaegar thrust his arm forth, the bastard sword acting more a lance than blade in that instance. The tip of his blade made contact with aught hard, muscle and bone, as a shrill cry rent its way through the air.  

This time, once it’d landed, the direwolf slunk away with a whimper. Blood stained its chest. Rhaegar wondered if he’d managed to nick the heart might be. But he thought not. His sword had slashed too high for that. Nonetheless, the creature continued to whine as it dragged its battered body to the other side, hiding in the bushes. It did not even glance towards the pup, abandoned in a small whole.

‘Twas curiosity more than pity which prompted his steps towards the spot. He walked slowly, measuring each footfall against the previous ones until his feet brought him to stand over the shallow pit. He lowered on his haunches and reached for the curled ball of fur. It had moved after all. When he touched the babe it made nary a sound. Rhaegar took it up in one hand, the weight negligible. Half-opened eyes watched him.

A whine from behind let him know the very likely a she-wolf had risen back on her feet. When he turned, certainly enough, the beast limped towards them, tongue lolling out, blood spilling upon the snow. Even on the tip of its tongue the strong red was present. Might be the horse had broken aught within her.

She would not live. That much he knew. Thus Rhaegar raised his sword in one hand and waited silently. The pup in his hand yipped, mayhap at the approach of the mother. His stomach clenched uncomfortably. And then, once the wolf was close enough, he struck, bringing the sword down in a wide arch, smashing the sharp edge against the top of her head.

He replaced his sword.

Blood splattered through the air as the skull cracked with a sickening sound. The she-wolf swayed for nigh a heartbeat before she fell in a heap with one last wheeze. He watched the blood leak from her wound in thick rivulets, wide golden eyes stuck to him. A shiver ran down his spine. Trembling limbs became still.

And then she was gone.

Rhaegar moved around the corpse to reach his horse which had retreated towards the other side. He opened the satchel hanging from the saddle and placed the pup within. He could not simply leave the she-wolf lying there in the snow.

With some effort, he managed to lift the beast. Direwolves were marked by their heavy bones and enormous size. She was no different, if a tad lank, a sign of starvation, might be.  Carrying her to the low shrubbery, Rhaegar placed her down upon the ground and gave her a long look. If only she’d run off and not attacked. He would have spared her.

The sword was once more in his hand, but this time he used it on the ground, rather than on the foe. He cut away at the bushes, making the solid earth beneath visible. Digging with a sword was akin to putting out a fire with a cup. Still, he’d no other tool. The tip broke through the thin layer of ice.

Before long he’d managed to somehow unearth enough soil to have crated a small whole, which he widened using his hands until the size of it pleased him. He then dragged the she-wolf within, congealed blood flaking in her way. Once within, he climbed out and began filling the earth back in place. The soft loam crumbled between his fingers, its cold wetness unpleasant.

A whistle left his lips when the whole was covered. A nicker came in reply. Rhaegar returned to his horse and mounted. Carefully, he dug his hand in the satchel and tugged out the squirming infant to inspect it further. And that was when it dawned upon him, there had been no other wolves about. Not even a one. Wolves stuck to their packs. How had these two separated from their own? Starved and frightened, running through thickets. The mother had even attacked him. It was true that he was only one man, but even so, to have attempted it was a sign of desperation. In daylight too, as though wolves hunted with the sun.

The pup whined, paws swiping through the air. Not unlike its kin, the animal bore signs of malnourishment. He could make out the bones of its ribcage. Or rather he ribcage, he corrected with a downward glance. How old was she? Could she eat meat? He’d little idea about what a wolf pup would swallow and when.

He tried to recall the dogs of King’s Landing and their habits. But all he remembered was that his lady mother had never wished them in the hall when they ate and they would feed on scraps from the kitchens. There were no scraps out in the wild. “We’ll fine aught,” he promised still, replacing her in the stiff satchel. He left the flap hanging down its back to prevent asphyxiation.    

Might be a rabbit, he considered the possibility, eyes roaming the woods. But that mean setting traps, and he’d brought none. His sword would not help either unless he could find a way to pin rabbits to the ground by a spear-like throw. A sigh left his lips. There was still fish. The river was filled with it.

From the side of his courser a low whine rang out. The horse froze, muscles contracting. Rhaegar leaned in and soothed away the fears. He reckoned it would take some time for the two beasts to reconcile with the fact that the three of them were now travelling companions. Fearing jostling the infant too hard, he curbed his desire to ride as fast as he normally would and tempered the steed’s pace as they took the path which seemed to have been used most recently.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The withering stare she gave him made it clear that his sister was more than glad for the outcome. Eddard swallowed back his reproach and grabbed one of the fish himself, bringing out his short knife. “I thought you swore you’d never touch one of these.”

Lyanna offered a small shrug and continued with her task. “I never thought I’d have reason to. A Queen does not abide by the kitchen tasks, does she?” He nodded. “Besides, that was a lifetime ago. I can cook now.”

“You?” His sister had attempted the gargantuan task of preparing a meal by herself, when they’d been children, sometime during one of his visits. The memory still turned his stomach. Despite his best attempts, he could not suppress the shiver running down his spine. “Gods, might be I should insist upon taking you back to Brandon. I am certain the Prince shall be thankful too.”

She shook her head and punched his arm playfully. “As if you could. He would never give me up.” And she believed it. He could see it in her face. Whenever they made mention of Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna reverted to the mannerism of her childhood, becoming, as it were, less stoic. “I do wonder if you’ll ever understand, brother.”

“Understand what?” The fish slipped from his hand, slumping pathetically against a rock, half of its scales loose. Lyanna stopped and placed her knife upon the ground, reaching out for his fish. She exchanged them one with the other. “Will you answer?”

“You’ll think me foolish if I do,” the girl said at long last. But then she brightened considerably. “Or might be you shall understand. I’m confident all you need for that is a nice maiden. Have you considered anyone yet?”

He gaped at her. “A what? What are you on about?” If he’d had any doubt, he was growing more and more certain Benjen had the right of it and their sister had had her wits knocked out. Might be she’d hit her head on something.

“A maiden. To wed,” she drew the words out slowly as though he were a slow child. “You know, Brandon has already settled upon someone. You’ll need to choose as well, or father just might do it for you.”

“He hasn’t,” came the swift protest. “You know father shall never allow the match between his and Lady Barbrey. He can ask all he likes.” Which was the fair truth of it. Their father had his own plans irrespective of independent wishes. “I shall wait my turn.”

“Like a good boy,” his sister teased. It remained stuck upon the tip of his tongue to agree and chastise her for her part in ruining those very plans. But he could not do it. In the end he had to swallow the bitter reply and settle for a hard stare. Not that Lyanna too particular notice. She had finished cleaning the fish in her hands with a triumphant grunt.

“There are times when I wish I’d been given the same lenience as you,” he said after a brief pause. She glanced up at that, amusement draining from her stare. Yet he’d already begun and once his lips parted, he could no better hold the words back than he’d be able to quell a snowstorm. “You were mother’s favourite, you know, she always defended you to father, no matter what it was you’d done. It did not matter to her that father very near lost trade when you decided you needed to teach lessons to the squires of Casterly Rock. Nor when we were young and despite ample warning, you still rode off with Benjen on father’s new horse. Benjen said it was your idea in the first place. And then when I brought Robert Baratheon to visit, you just had to get into an argument. Before the whole keep, no less. Might be you meant well, I cannot say otherwise, but by the gods, there are times when you can be a wretched cat. Have some thought for anyone other than yourself.”

She’d said not a thing, but the colour in her cheeks had drained away. He went on. “This world does not revolve around Lyanna Stark and her wishes. You’d best learn that before fate decides to teach it.” He stood to his feet, dropping both his knife and his fish. “I am certain you can finish this on your own.”

Lyanna did not attempt to stop him. He could feel her eyes on him though. Ned did his best to ignore it. There wee times when she needed a firm hand and without father or Brandon there was little choice but to do it himself. He closed his eyes and stopped a sigh from rolling past his lips. When he opened them he saw Arthur Dayne standing before him.

“What is amiss with your sister?” he questioned, eyes fixed upon a point behind him. Was she weeping? Ned shook his head. “Women are strange creatures, best not to displease them before you’ve a meal before you, boy. Haven’t you learned that much?”

A mirthless chuckle wheezed its way out of his throat. “Left to her own devices, I am certain she would poison us all. How well do you know my sister, ser?”

The knight blinked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Well enough to hazard a guess that harsh words displease her. ‘Twould be for the better were you to mend fences sooner rather than later.” He ignored the warning he heard buried beneath the advice.

Ned glanced over his shoulder. Lyanna had returned to her task,; with becoming diligence, severely out of place where it concerned her, his sister dragged the knife over gleaming scales parting them one by one from the corpse they clothed.       

“Not very well then,” he muttered. “Ser Dayne, there are no fences to mend.” Just truths to accept. He supposed those were a greater danger though. “Begging your pardon.” Ned made to move away and would have too had a shout not rang out.

Before he could gather his wits, Lyanna was on her feet, sprinting across the clearing, on her bad leg no less, with Benjen trailing after.  He had only one moment before he caught sight of the long-awaited, by Lyanna at any rate, son of the King. How else could bear such striking colours?

Calmer than he felt, Ned turned around and surveyed the scene, lips thinning into a string-like line of bloodless flesh. His eyes narrowed as the man dismounted and without even glancing at the brother, he picked Lyanna up. It was the feeling rather than the motion which had him off kilter. Benjen had stopped as well.

The King’s eldest was still holding onto Lyanna, leaving her feet dangling like those of a doll. But his sister, if anything, seemed most pleased, as her arms held on with surprising tenacity. The roar of blood in his ears stopped him from hearing aught though, thus Ned was forced to take a step forth, and then another, and another, until he was tearing towards the couple so fast his lungs screamed out in protest.

He never truly managed to reach them, for a hand clamped down upon his shoulder, dragging him backwards, the momentum causing him to falter. “Leave it be.”

Leave it be? Sputtering out a protest, Ned tried to shake off the knight’s hold, but the Prince finally released his sister, placing her gently back upon her feet. His eyes immediately followed the motion of her hands as she clutched onto the man’s arm, leaning her weight against him. Then, as though taking note of his surroundings for the first time, Rhaegar Targaryen’s eyes met his. Ned held the stare, not daring to break contact.

The hand upon his shoulder gave him a strong push. “Now would be the time to move.”

With a mind of their own his feet followed the instructions until he stood before his sister and her lover. Tongue thick in his mouth, Ned only managed a choked sound as his stare went from one to the other.

The man had no such difficulties thought. “So you are the brothers she kept threatening me with?” Despite the light humour on the surface, Ned could well detect the edge to those words. “I should run the both of you through.”

His sister protested heartily at that. “What folly this? We should all work together,” she said. “Rhaegar, please. Please.” But he was not looking at her then.

“Might be you ought to have watched her better.” he spat back, hackles rising. Southron blood showed.

“Ned,” Lyanna cut in. “Don’t start.”

“Who let her wander about unguarded in the first place?” the Prince returned, not missing a beat. Never let it be said the man did not know how to throw an insult.

Ned reached for his sword, fingers wrapping around the handle. The look in his sister’s eyes put an end to his plans though. She had pressed even harder against her lover. “Stop it. This is the third fight I’ve had to break off in as many days.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's about as far as foreshadowing goes, I suppose.


	15. A Stretch Of Faith

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna sat down on the bench, cradling the beastling to her chest. The decidedly motherly nature of her touch gave Rhaegar pause. He’d not thought she’d taken on so when he gave her the pup. But then, he should have known Lyanna never did aught half-hearted.

Her brother was still in the middle of making his argument, protesting the notion that his sister might remain longer than necessary in the village. “If the three of us could take her, what makes you believe an entire contingent of soldiery would fare worse. You might fight well, but last I saw, there were few men about.”

“More than enough to send your brother home south of the Wall with his tail tucked between his legs,” he snorted, tearing his gaze away from Lyanna who was looking at neither of them, content, for the moment, to coo over the babe.

“That would gain you at best a reprieve,” Eddard Stark argued back. “And you know it.” He did. Nevertheless, Rhaegar was not about to let them take Lyanna away. “Lyanna, for the love of everything that’s holy, why won’t you speak up?”

“Must I fight your battles for you as well?” she questioned calmly, finally looking at them. “Brother dearest, ‘tis simple as far as I can tell. We are all searching for the truth here. And one way to find it is to work together. It would certainly make matters easier if we were to proceed at this point.”

He froze. There was truth to her thinking. But that did not mean he had to like it. An uneasy nod later, she continued. “Brandon could escort me back. Since the King waits at the Wall still, then we need do no more than return the Prince as well. As I recall, father wished to return to Winterfell after.”

“Aye, to speak about the wedding and various settlements,” her brother answered pointedly. “What makes you think the king means to allow it now?” Rhaegar resisted the urge to slap the back of the boy’s head.   

“He might not,” Lyanna surprisingly agreed, placing the wolf pup on the ground. The beast curled at her feet, a tight coil of fur. “But it would still take time to have an adequate council gathered and aught else verified.”

It took a few moments for his to catch on. She meant to expose herself not only to the cruel judgement of his father, but to that of those around her as well. They would know, and he doubted it would be taken kindly. He was shaking his head before he even knew that he was doing it.  “Nay; that is unnecessary.”

“Why? Do you mean to abandon me?” she snapped, eyes rounding upon him with a flicker of aught he could not decipher. “Well, do you mean to forget my existence?”

“Of course not,” he scowled, not wishing to have such a conversation before her brothers.

“Then I’ve little to fear.” She shrugged, as though her mind could not comprehend the danger she exposed herself to.

Instead of starting an argument with her there, smack in the middle of the long hall, he grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her to her feet. The pup, jolted from its comfortable position yowled and moved away, but once it understood what was going on, the creature simply kept on its new mother’s heels. And Rhaegar wasted no time in leading her away, ignoring her brother’s yells. Dayne’s muffled voice cut in and the calls stopped in the wake of his intervention.

Without light snowfall tumbled through a sieve of fat, curly clouds. The silvery flakes caught in Lyanna’s hair, forming a thin halo. Were he in a better mood, he might have drawn the wherewithal to admire the grace of such an arrangement. But his mind burned with the effort it took to keep his temper in check.  

Oblivious to his state, Lyanna prattled on aught about wanting to make the right choice. As though such a choice could possibly extend to placing her in harm’s way. Nevertheless he allowed her to yammer on in hopes that she would pay as little mind possible to the direction he was steering them in. There would be no such good fortune for him though.

“And if you believe,” she continued upon a soft intake of breath, “that you might convince me otherwise simply by exercising the rights of a husband, you are wrong.  We have to do this.” There it was once more, that spark, a thin sheet of iron buried beneath child-like optimism. “I have to do this.”

They’d reached the premises and entered together, with him giving her a slight nudge. The pelt fell behind them. Once in the narrow space, his hands gripped her shoulders tightly, poised upon a single though; he’d shake the madness out of her if he had to. “Do you not understand that I do not care about that? Let the gods-damned kingdom rot. I’ve no need for it.”

Her face softened. “Rhaegar, ‘tis not about the kingdom. ‘Tis about the truth.” She gripped him back, arms wounding around his waist. “If my kin is truly involved in it all, ‘tis only right that I know. For the both of us. For justice. And for a thousand other reasons. We’ll do as you wish after; whatever your choice, I will follow you.”

A bitter stretch of lips preceded his answer. “And if I choose this?” He nodded to their surroundings, with the dirt floor and straw palette. “Would you still feel the same?” Rhaegar let go, arms falling to his sides. He gazed into her face, the open expression offering him promises he dared not reach for. Once she returned to her home, she would change her mind. ‘Twas only natural. “Very well, my lady, do as you wish.”

For half a heartbeat he thought she would let go. But instead, Lyanna’s eyes narrowed in a glare. “You utter dolt. Had I wished to leave, I would have taken off of my own long ago.” A flush reddened her cheeks, pushed on, he had little doubt, by anger. “What are you so afraid of?” He gave no response. Lyanna’s nails dug into his arm. “Don’t. Don’t treat me like I couldn’t possibly understand. You chose me just as much as I chose you. Trust me.”   

With his good health and life, with his future to a certain. But not with his heart. Muscles drew taut, the rigidity noticeable as her fingers traced his jaw lightly. “If you go, you won’t come back. If you do, it won’t be the same.” There was likely a thousand other possibilities which would take her fancy. He’d lost, it was as simple as that. A sigh slipped past his lips. He ought to have stayed put and not follow after her. Arthur should have done the same.

“The hell it would.” He started at the sheer viciousness. “I did not think I would need to spell it out, but since I’ve little choice in it, then you should know that I love you.” Eyes wide as trenchers, he stood there stunned. Nay, his hearing must have been playing tricks on him. Lyanna’s lips pursed, just a fraction, before she moved her hands to hold his face. “And since I love you,” there, she was saying it again, “I will act in the manner of a sweating sickness and not leave you be for the remainder of our lives. I am going to learn the truth and you are going to help me.”

“What?” he sputtered. His mind had only concerned itself with a small trio of words. “Say that again, won’t you?”

“I am going to learn–“ He pressed a fingertip to her lips and shook his head. Soon though she pushed the digit away. “I love you,” she repeated, lingering over every word. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You have to mean it.” The break of his voice put him on edge. He’d not expected that she might say those words, let alone feel them, but he sensed no artifice. “I cannot–“

“You are supposed to say you love me as well,” she interrupted, her lower lips jutting out childishly. “Unless you do not, in which case, I do believe I shall take it back.”

“Take it back and you’re never leaving here,” he found himself warning, taking hold of her waist. Her spine arched beneath his fingers.

“How compelling an argument.” It struck him then that she held no fear of him. For him might be, but it did not occur to her to panic over what he might do to her heart. “And what shall you do to stop me? Break my legs?”

“That’s an idea,” he muttered. “Woman, either you trust me to a level which rivals stupidity, or you are daft. Either way, I am not handing you over, and if need be, I’ll drag you back at the end of it. I hope ‘tis clear.”

“Crystal.” The ice in his heart thawed. “I would be most disappointed if you did not.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The warm cloak around her shoulders kept the harsh wind at bay. Lyanna winced still at the slight pain burning where her legs met and shifted in the saddle. Mercifully, if Benjen thought aught of it, he made no mention and Ned was still speaking to Ser Arthur. She knew Rhaegar well enough to know that he’d done it on purpose and her mind already conjured ways to repay him in kind, though she suspected her soreness was not aught he might feel even with diligently applied attention. Drat him, the look on his face left little to imagination.

Their eyes met over the distance and he nodded his head, the knowing smile firmly in place. Her face burned with unspent irritation. Had she known a short separation did that to a man she might have threatened to take off long ago. But then, he might have truly broken both her legs.  Laughter bubbled upon her lips yet before she could release it, her teeth clamped down upon her lower lip. Better not to to, she decided, with her brothers so close by.

Viserys tore past Benjen’s horse, with only a brief smile her way and a greeting to her brother, before he stopped before Ser Dayne’s charger. The knight paused in the middle of his conversation to pick the child up and swing him in the saddle. Rhaegar jointed them as well.

For better or worse, they’d settled upon a plan, which involved minimal efforts of Lyanna’s part, though she’d offered top do more. Three equally horrified expressions had greeted her suggestion, a fourth one carrying slight bemusement, the fifth not at all interested. The black brother took more interest in young Dalla. Lyanna had considered warning Rhaegar, but he was not blind and Dalla was not helpless. So it was that she managed to find aught to do with much negotiation and not nearly enough time on her hands.

The three men broke apart, Ned going after his own steed as Mance appeared from the direction of the hall.

“Finally,” she heard Benjen mutter. “I thought they’d never be done.“ So had she, but that was no reason to complain. It was just that which she was about to say when Rhaegar sauntered up to her. Her brother made a noise of exasperation and dismounted. “I think I forgot aught.” He’d not, but Lyanna was glad all the same for him ham-handed gesture.

“I thought last night was enough,” she said when his hand covered hers, thumb rubbing into her skin. “There is little warning you can give me now, Rhaegar. I believe we have it al down from the impossible to the unlikely.” She was glad her ears could not experience soreness, else his words might have produced like ache there as well. “Rhaegar?”

“Always so suspicious,” he murmured in reply. “I can think of no other warning.” His hand crept upwards to her shoulder, pulling her down. “I’ll be with you soon. Don’t you dare do aught stupid, you hear?”

“I would never.” That was not entirely true. But Lyanna would not enlighten him. “Are you going to be an overbearing husband for the rest of our lives?”

He grinned and nodded his head, unrepentant. “You may count on it, my lady.” She rolled her eyes and made to evade his clasp, but the fingers around her hand clenched so hard her bones screeched in protest. “Have a care. I am not in the best of moods.”

“One has to wonder why,” she drawled, another twinge increasing her desire to wiggle. Were she to do so, the horse would likely spook and throw her off and getting on had been difficult enough to begin with. “Out of us two, ‘tis not you who has that right.”

“Don’t I? With a woman like you, it would take a saint to maintain a good disposition.” He eased his hold, but kept her hand trapped. “If it seems that aught is going wrong, abandon all attempts to further the cause.”

Again she rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. “Rhaegar, I am not a child. Naught will happen; you’ll see.” This time when she bent down, her lips reached his cheek, tracing a soft line to his lips. She did not even care that they were being stared at. She raised her head. “And if it does, you’ll be there as well.”

“Daft wench.” His brow furrowed. Nevertheless, he fused his lips to hers, stealing her breath away. “You’d best hope I’m there,” he ground out once they separated. “Be off with you then, before I change my mind.”

She nodded and straightened herself. “I shall see you soon.” One last look passed between them before he took a step back, giving Benjen the road. Her brother had kept well away but once he saw his chance, he clambered in the saddle. Lyanna didn’t need to look to gauge his expression. “There, there, Benjen, one day you shall understand.” She waved her hand through the air at Dalla and Val who were standing a good way away. They waved back.

And that was that. Her brother spurred his steed on, pressing sharp heels into the beast’s side. Lyanna heaved a sigh and her hand swerved to the side, slipping into the wide pouch her wolf slept in. Her fingers rubbed against the warm fur, slipping through the dull grey coat in wide whorls.

“If you’d planned to give me a hard time of ever looking at you again, you did a splendid job,” her brother ventured after a few moments of silence. “Did you stop to consider not all of us want to be in the bedchamber with you two?”

“First off,” she bit, pulling her hand out, “you’ve no idea what goes on in a bedroom, thus kindly refrain from lecturing me. Second of all, you are my younger brother and I needn’t worry over your good opinion in this matter. And thirdly–“

“Enough, enough,” Benjen moaned, exasperation colouring his words yet again. “You’ll drive me mad.”

“I’ve hardly begun,” she countered easily, daring a glance over her shoulder. “Say, Ben, you look as though you’ve grown a head taller.”

“And more than a few wiser,” he offered with a chuckle. “I thought Ned would hie off after you. But now I’m glad he did not. Might have scarred him for life. The gods know I’ll never sleep the same again. But I’ve been meaning to ask; why him? Why fall in love with the one man who would make the scandal a thousand times more potent?”  

She shrugged. “There are many reasons to love him, Ben. ‘Tis just, whenever I try to put my finger on it, I never quite come up with a satisfactory answer.” She’d not considered the notion oft though. Might be that was why. “Do I need a reason to love him?”

“If I were father, I would say you ought to have one; I’d go so far as to say ‘tis necessary. I’ve tried to find an answer of my on, but I confess I do not see it. You’ve forfeited the throne and might be even your life if it comes to light you were ever so willing in your ruination.” Pragmatism did not suit her brother; Lyanna sobered at those words.

“That is the danger of it, but I thought I could act like my old self. Demand some blood and cry a few tears. It would keep me safe for the time being.” And it was the only thing she could do given the circumstances. “I think one can understand better when they’ve experienced it.”

“Without doubt,” her sibling allowed, steering the horse gently. “But father will not understand and the King even less. So if you doubt you can do it, tell me now, and I’ll find a way to aid.”

“Gods, when have you grown so mature?” Benjen shrugged, the motion brushing against her. “I can do it. If I need your help, be sure I will demand it. Tell me truly, for Ned knows not how to lie and his silence is worrisome, what did father do after I was taken?”

“He sent out men.” And there she’d been thinking him worried. “He thought you might have been taken to some nearby village and could be rescued without much effort. When it turned out ‘twas not the case, he sent out Brandon.”

Her lips thinned into a straight line. “He still hopes I shall wed the Prince?” Her eyes darted to Viserys who was talking to the Kingsguard, or rather at him, as Ser Dayne made no attempt to reply and did not seem to be picking up the words either.

“He wants his own grandchild on the throne. I doubt it matters to him which one of us he has to wed off. Had the King had a surviving daughter and no sons, you can be certain she would be shackled to a wolf of her own.”

“I’d been hoping the experience might change him.” Rather too tall an order, she mused.

Benjen seemed to fully agree.    

 

 

 

 

 

   


	16. One Step Beyond

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why she’d expected her absence might produce any grand changes in her brother’s pattern of behaviour, she could not rightly say. And the truth of the matter was a cold bucket of water dousing her hopes, as her eyes lingered on her brother’s form, berating left and right, his voice rising in a roar. It might have been amusing where she not being completely ignored.

But then Lyanna assumed a tirade on her part would help matters any, for which she held her tongue and remained stewing in silence until her brother would deign to give her a shred of attention.

Someone sat down next to her. From the corner of her eyes she caught only a shadow, but when she looked she could easily recognise the familiar face of Robert Baratheon. Heir to the Stormlands and the much-wished-for husband in many a maiden’s mind, he offered her an easy grin. Friendly as always, he engaged her in conversation without much thought.

“Had quite the adventure, my lady?” he asked, settling for drawing her cloak tighter about her shoulders after rising his hand up. “Your brothers were nigh driven mad by your absence.” No one could accuse him of not paying mind, she supposed.

“And they be driven twice as close to the brink of insanity now that I am returned, it seems.” He chuckled. “Think you I jest? Look but at Brandon and tell me he is not headed straight for a dark pi8t of despair.” Robert snorted.

“My lady, men are not so easily corrupted,” he assured, touching her shoulder briefly. “’Tis good to see captivity has not mellowed you one bit. We did worry that the injustice suffered would do you harm.” Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head slightly to the side. Robert seemed to understand it was her way of demanding further information. “We worried about the state we would find you in. But a mere sprained ankle is not that worse for wear.” He glanced away.

Lyanna very nearly smiled. She straightened her neck and folded her hands in her lap, forcing her mien into a neutral mask. “A sprained ankle, it needs to be said which was visited upon me by my saviours.” She was mocking him, but only slightly and Robert seemed not to catch on, of if he had caught on, he seemed not to mind. “I suppose we shall have to give proper praise to the gods.”

“’Tis only natural.” A sigh left his lips shortly thereafter. He looked towards Brandon who was dealing with some of the men and the Prince’s man. Viserys was currently preoccupied with convincing Ser Dayne that he could catch a basket-full of fish. “I should not be saying this to you, I promised I would not further distress you. Alas, if I do not, I will consider myself quite the cad. Your lord father and the King got into a mighty argument before we left. I fear they are rather divided as to what their next step shall be.”

“Divided, you say?” He confirmed. “Well that is no business of mine. I am but a daughter.” Her point was met with an amused huff. “Don’t laugh. I am being very serious. This is no matter I need concern myself with. My lord father will take care of it.”

Robert shrugged and sat up. “As you wish. If you do change your mind,” he trailed off and turned to gaze off in the distance. Lyanna shivered lightly and crossed her arms over her chest. The man cleared his throat and walked away, ostensibly towards a group of men with whom he began a conversation.

That left Lyanna on her own yet again. She watched him for a few moments, trying to decipher what exactly it was that the man was up to.  She’d never been close to him, or even extremely fond of his good looks. Though he’d been Ned’s closest companion for as long a lifetime now, she saw no reason to court his good opinion. Had even gone as far as to argue with him before a hall full of people. The only possible explanation was that Ned had spoken to him and that father was in a fair amount of trouble. She sighed and removed her hands, replacing them in her lap yet again.

Where was Rhaegar? He’d likely follow them a safe distance away. Her fingers began plucking at the beads wrapped around her wrist. The bauble quivered under her ministrations, but the protests were short-lived. Might be she should have refused to return. Did it truly matter who had done what? She could convince Rhaegar to let go of his fury. She knew she could. And they could continue as they’d always been.

Too late for regrets. She pushed herself back against the stump of the tree, trying for a more comfortable position. Her eyes followed her eldest brother as he went about his duties. Ned was trailing him. Benjen, on the other hand, had managed to move to a more secluded spot from which he, same as she, gave himself wholly to the task of observing the camp. Their eyes caught. He nodded and smiled. She remained motionless, debating whether she should or should not attempt to rise to her feet. Her ankle was feeling slightly better after many a snow-dressings wrapped around it. The last thing she ought to do was test its limits so very early on.        

Which was precisely why temptation reared its ugly head, goading her on, Lyanna suspected, eyes darting around in hopes that aught else might satisfy until the time came for them to move once more. Her wish more or less reached the eras of the gods, for she found her arms filled by the very convenient weight of a princeling, whose arms landed squarely around her shoulders. “Will you make more food when we go to Winterfell?”

“Food? From my sister?” That was Brandon. “Your Grace, best not to tempt fate.” The child, not understanding the man spoke in jest, craned his neck to look over his shoulder. Lyanna presumed he frowned. “Menial work; is that what you have been reduced to, sister?”

She bristled. Unfortunately, she could not very well claim it had been a pleasant enough experience to cook for those she cared about. Ladies had no business in the kitchens, unless it was to oversee the activity. Furthermore, a queen would likely never step foot within such a chamber. Nevertheless, acting a nurturing force had been comfortable, if not pleasant. It had simply felt right. “Better to do menial work than serve another purpose.” Turning her attention back to the child, she brushed the hair out of his face. “If you wish it, I will cook, Your Grace.”

Perceiving himself the victor, the boy let go of her, sprinting towards his guardian, letting him know with no small amount of enthusiasm what his achievement entailed. Brandon helped her up, allowing her to burrow into his side, or rather held her there. Nevertheless, she was not going to fall face-first and make a spectacle out of herself. “I would not advise growing attached to the child. His father was not best pleased and one can assume he and our own sire will part ways after this.”

“That is no concern of mine. And I do not know why everyone insists upon repeating this nonsense. We have written word of the betrothal. If the King walks away now, we will have a manner of satisfaction.” Brandon sighed and shook his head. If only it were that simple; still, Lyanna would not let on she had any concerns. “Best tell me who awaits our arrival?”

“His Majesty, obviously, and lord father. The Queen had arrived as well as we were leaving, and then I reckon Aunt Branda will have arrived as well.”

Aunt Branda was to be there? Lyanna might have deflated has she not feared that would land her on her arse. It was not precisely that she disliked the woman, it was not even that she found the woman beneath her notice, although one had to admit the gulf in their positions was clearly existent; rather she found her mother’s sister to be a nuisance. Forever acting as though Lyanna was in need of her guidance. She would scoff in her face, except that father would take exception to such behaviour and she would end up writing a great number of apologies. Frankly the thought did little to lift her spirits, although, baring the chance of punishment she would probably do it.  

“And I suppose I shall have to keep company with aunt dearest?” Her question was superfluous. She already knew what she had to do.  

“It would be in your interest; however, it would be even wiser of you to latch onto the Queen.” She gave him a long look. “Until the end of this matter is reached you might as well try your best to keep a pleasant relationship with the royal family.”

“The way you speak of it, my dear brother, one would think the matter is grave indeed. But no matter, I will do as I’ve always done.” She stretched her lips in a thin smile. “And if need be I can stick to our aunt’s side or the Queen’s. ‘Tis no matter.” And in truth it was not such a bad fate, she supposed. Merely a hindrance. Still that was not reason enough to turn her nose up at the company, moreover, the Queen, if she could get to her, might know a little about the incident which had prompted her son’s exile.

If anyone would know, it stood to reason involvement was a requirement. Her fingers curled tighter around her brother’s arm as her good leg met a rise, causing her to falter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Had she not known any better, Lyanna would have sworn she’d been gone a decade and not a day less. To be sure, her father had, to her, always looked a man beyond his years, what with his bushy beard and perpetual frown. Rather liked Ned, much as she disliked drawing the parallel. But the years seemed to have done a lot more than simply roll over him; they’d galloped past the man with the speed of a crazed horse in a mad dash. And her legs were already unsteady in the face of his cold greeting, as though she’d simply gone out for a ride and came back with a scraped knee. But then her father’s inner warmth had ever amounted to a molehill at best.

“We are so relieved,” aunt Branda was saying, holding her hand, tugging her gently to the side as the King said something in such a low voice she could not catch it. Something told her she did not wish to either. “My lord, the girl is surely dead on her feet. She deserves a few hours of rest.”

“Aye, let the girl rest,” the King agreed, might be pleased to have his son back. That had been what mattered to him. Lyanna’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man before she could catch herself. It was rather clear her fate remained yet unsealed. Although the suspicion she could see in those eyes, very like Rhaegar’s but at the same time very different as well, twisted her insides something fierce.

“Come, niece; I trust ‘tis better we get you to the fire’s warmth.” Fire’s warmth, indeed. Lyanna supressed a groan. “It must have been horrible, to be trapped with savages.” Her aunt helped her out into the dimly lit hall, encircling an arm around her waist, presumably to better handle the weight. “You do not look worse for wear though, which is a relief in itself. Reminds me of my sister. Lyarra would have been proud.”       

“You are very kind,” she found herself offering. “And ever so helpful. But I wonder at the sacrifice. I understand you have uprooted your daughter as well.” Branda chuckled, as if Lyanna’s words carried some sliver of comedy. Profound as the reaction was, Lyanna strove to push it from her mind. “She is yet very young to be travelling.”

“She is not that young, niece, and you would not believe how much she’s grown in these years. Like a weed.” Sequestered as she’d been for the duration of her return thus far, Lyanna could neither approve, nor disagree. Thus she glanced at her aunt, hoping the conversation would die a swift end. Not that fortune was on her side. “You will see for yourself; she is desirous to meet her cousin and it won’t be long until she finds some way to appear before you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know; it's been a year since I updates this. However, keep in mind I have an explanation for it. So:


	17. A Manner of Looking Glass

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her head tilted gently to the side. Lyanna eyed the middle-aged woman with little fear. She’d been raised to face these creatures. There was still, despite all her training, a vague part of her mind which shivered in disquiet, for no matter how much she’d loved being loved, rules were not so simply cast aside. It was one thing to bed a man in the wild lands beyond the Wall. It was quite another to be the daughter of a nobleman and have effectively thwarted your father’s plans. And she was made acutely aware of her choices with understanding eyes settled upon her. Had she been scrutinised with cold disdain she might have taken comfort in a coolness of her own.

“But of course. Pray allow her to come in.” She was not particularly desirous to meet the little girl. Viserys was more than enough to fill her need to coo and mother. Alas, her aunt would insist the child come again were Lyanna to turn her away, she was certain. And she hadn’t the heart to refuse the child. Why, just because she did not hold er aunt in any special regard.

Before a moment had passed the door opened once more and a small figure stepped in. Well, nor precisely small. The child was tall. Not gangly, though. She stood a fair head over what Lyanna imagined she would have been at that age. Her open face completed a look of charm and poise which one met rarely in ladies of the court, let alone untrained girls.

“Cousin Lyanna?” she questioned, wide eyes falling upon her face just as her mind finished registered the look her kin had about her. She gasped. There was no helping her reaction. If anything, hiding it might have sent her into an apoplexy fit.

Her teeth dug into her lower lip to keep from speaking right away. Her nail bits into the soft flesh of her palm. She could feel the crescents forming beneath the pressure of blunt nails. “Aye. I am cousin Lyanna, little Alysa.” She forced a small smile upon her lips, hoping the girl would not take notice. “Come a little closer, won’t you?”

But Alysa had noticed, she though, for a frown made its way upon her face. A face Lyanna could not be mistaking. Aye, the colouring was off, but then her mother was as Northerner as Lyanna herself. She could not expect any different a result. Her heart twinged painfully, twisting frantically in her chest; almost in the manner of a bird fighting to take flight. The wings had broken though. She feared it would take much coaxing to put those to rights.

“Are you in pain, cousin?” She did slide closer, hands reaching out for her own. Lean long fingers wrapped around the back of her palms. “Mother said you might still be under the effects of,” she trailed off, gaze flying to a point behind Lyanna. “I shouldn’t upset you. But here I am, reminding you f exactly upsetting matters. Mother always says I am to awkward and unthinking for my own good.”

It was excusable. All of a sudden the cords f her heart vibrated and she felt herself fill with, not pity, any, but understanding. Lifting one palm to cup the girl’s cheek in her hand, she gave her another smile, a genuine one this time. “Not at all. You mustn’t let your mother oush you into thinking such nonsense.” Did Rhaegar know? “In fact, I think you are perfectly charming. Abd considerate as well. Rare qualities.” She would murder him.

Aunt Branda certainly knew. It was impossible that she was under the impression this child belonged to her husband. Lyanna swallowed any sign of discomfort she might have been tempted to put forth and dropped her hand from the child’s face. “Come then, sit with me for a little while.”

Climbing atop the coverlet, Alysa allowed her feet to dangle over the edge, just slightly. In a few turns it was likely her height would permit that she sit without a single problem. Lyanna counted the years backwards in her mind. Where had her aurtn had the chance to meet Rhaegar? Or could the child not be Rhaegar’s? “Can I ask you something, cousin? About, well, about the Wildlings.” Her cheeks bloomed scarlet as she touched her hand to Lyanna’s arm. “Or-”

“No retreating,” she insisted, finally managing a civil tongue. “You may ask me anything you wish.” There was the King. Good gods though, the man hadn’t even been able to plant proper seed in his own wife, let alone in her aunt. And Branda’s husband, had he never had any suspicions? Surely he would be able to tell if the child was his or not.

It must have been when Rhaegar was sent to the Wall. There was no other fitting period. He had been in her home, bedding her aunt. Of all people he might have taken a fancy to. All women. She would have forgiven a servant girl. She would have understood. But her aunt? When she saw him once more she would wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. The bastard. Who did he think he was? Did he know about the child? Had her aunt somehow managed to tell him as much?

And she, fool that she was, had thought herself special. “Cousin?” the child’s voice jolted her back into conscious attention. “Are you well?”

“Aye. Pray, repeat yourself. I’m afraid my mind is somewhat flighty on this day. Must be this horrid snow storm.” She hoped his toes froze off and his nose blackened and fell into a mound of snow.

“I was asking if ‘tis true that Wildlings walk about wit skulls toed around their waists.” Curious eyes lingered upon her expression as she understood the words which were being said.

“Skulls? Dear me, where have you heard that bit of nonsense?” The girl shrugged. And she looked more and more like her father by the moment. Why were the gods so very cruel? “Nay; I daresay the only place one will find skulls in is a good old boneyard.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a mood as charitable as the snowstorm raging without, Lyanna greeted the Queen with as little grace as she could muster. Partly because her thoughts flew to Rhaegar whenever she looked into the woman’s face and partly because the thought of this woman judging her made her skin crawl. “I would not wish to impose,” the woman told her, moving around the small table until they stood face to face, or rather face to throat. What was it with all these gargantuan dragonkin towering over her. It was some sort of poorly crafted jest. “But I must know.”

She started at that. She must know, mustn’t she? A low growl formed in the back of her throat. “There is very little I can say, Your Grace. The situation was most unfortunate. I am only sorry your son had to suffer the indignity of captivity. I tried to shield him as much as I could.”

“And I shall be forever thankful to your for the kindness. You are a brave young woman.” The Queen grabbed one of her hands, dragging it towards her. “But Viserys was unharmed, for all the panic my lord husband has set himself into. Yet I feel there is more to this story than has been said.”The grip upon her hand grew tremendously painful until Lyanna had no choice but to break into a wince. “Apologies.” The hold grew slack, only by a bit though.

“What could I possibly say that you have not heard, Your Grace?” She frowned up into the woman’s face. “It is extremely irregular to be hounded so.” Part of her rejoiced at the hurt look the Queen set forth. Good, the dragons should suffer a little as well. It was hardly fair that she twist herself into a bed of heartache and no one else be in a like position. “One should think it is more than enough to have been so strongly disabused of all notions good and true.” Lyanna did not even care that she created more confusion with her answer than she gave a reason not to reveal aught.

But the Queen was not about to give up. Long-fingered hands gripped her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. “I am so very sorry you suffered through such an experience. Ser Dayne was king enough to tell me some of it.” Her jaw locked tight at those words. She knew. There was no way the Queen did not know about her and Rhaegar. Dayne would not have hidden it from her. Especially considering the tension between her and the King. It was clear whose side Rhaella Targaryen was on. “Pray, Lady Lyanna, tell me about my son. Our time is short. Hurry, lest someone should suspect us.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. For a brief moment she considered telling the woman her son was no better than a lying, cheating worm. But she could not do it. A cheating, lying worm though he be, Rhaegar had also saved her life. And despite her anger, her heart continued to quiver at the thought of him.

“I did see him,” she admitted. “In truth, we saw much of each other. I know not how much Ser Dayne revealed.” She paused, expecting the Queen might offer an answer to the implied question. There was no reply forthcoming though. She sighed and pushed the hands off of her shoulders, taking a step back. “I have questions of my own though. Might be Your Grace would be so kind as to agree to an exchange.”

The woman’s lower lip quivered. It was a gentle motion, almost as though she’d not meant to give in and have the weakness exposed. “As I said, we do not have much time. If anyone should suspect the true scope of the Wildlings’ incursion over the Wall, there should be much chaos.”

“That does not answer my proposition, Your Grace,” she pointed out, steeling herself against the feelings blooming within her chest. “Either we agree to an exchange, or I answer no question posed.”

The Queen’s face hardened. “An exchange it is then.” Lyanna had expected that she would have to push more for the deal to come through. To have her opponent give up so easily, she must be desperate. A starving man before the feast.

“Very well. This time I shan’t demand anything,” Lyanna said, more as a show of grace than any true desire to exercise patience. “Ask, Your Grace, what it is that you wish to know.” She backed away until there was quite the distance between them, enough of it that she did not have to angle her neck back awkwardly, trying to stare into her guest’s face.

“Is he well? Hale? Last I heard, he was a black brother and I had no hope at all.” She blanched. Surely Arthur would have made it clear that her eldest was well.

“He is. In fact, I doubt anyone would consider him to be in poor health. Has Ser Dayne been spinning yarns?” She laughed at the thought. “Nay; he would not. Alas, it seems he has been woefully negligent. To allow a mother to believe her child in peril.”

“He is in peril,” the Queen contradicted. Yet there was no heat, nor urgency behind her words. As though she had long since made peace with the thought. What a chilling thought. “You would not understand, for you know little enough of the affair.” She knew more than enough about the affair. Lyanna frowned. “You siad you would ask for naught this once. I shan’t give aught then. Ser Dayne implied you and my son grew close.”

“Close enough that I have returned to this place.” And that, Lyanna suspected, said more than any explanation might. She held back a sigh of frustration at having given herself away. It was not to be, ‘twas all. Her promise still held though.

“I see.” The hand returned to take hers, the hold soft and warm. “I did not dare hope it was true. But if my son trusts you then I must as well.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter. I'm actually very happy because my girls qualified. I don't think I'd have written this were that not the case.
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> Give me those 10s, bae!!!!!
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> Anyway, my little episode aside, I hope you enjoed the chapter. :D 
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> All the best.


	18. Face The Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small time-skip ahead!

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You are mad,” Arthur hissed, eyeing him with the customary coolness one encountered in the case of a freshly woken sleep deprived guard. “We agreed, did we not, that you would come when it was safe.”

“You sound like a henpecking wife, Dayne. I do not need a henpecking wife.” A henpecking she-wolf was another matter altogether. Staring at the man who was busily rubbing sleep from his eyes, Rhaegar suppressed a sigh. “This keep is hard enough to get into without having to worry about your lack of cooperation.”

“You forget,” his companion rejoined smoothly, “that you have been here before. You should know the layout.” He scowled. “You should know at least where to find what you are looking for.”

“I confess, I hardly searched for a maiden’s bed the last I was here.” Arthur gave a snort. “I do not wish to go knocking down every door. Best you tell me which one I should be knocking on, or I will be forced to do just that.”

“Would you not be better served to visit the Queen?” That gave him pause. In truth, Rhaegar had avoided thinking of his mother. She had chosen her side a long time ago. He did not want to consider her. A non-entity, that was what he told himself she was. “She’s been waiting all these years. I am sure Lady Lyanna will understand.” She might have exerted herself and stood up to his father. She might have said something, anything. She hadn’t.

“I am not going to,” he answered the proposition.

“But she-”

Rhaegar snarled. “I will not see her, Dayne. Stop pestering me.” His hand had already flown to his weapon without him having realised. Arthur tensed. His sword was at the foot of the bed. Much too far to reach in case of an attack. With some difficulty Rhaegar pried his fingers away from the handle. “You wish to aid me. I know. But understand that I want nothing to do with that woman.” After all, she had turned her back on him first.  

“Very well. I will not insist. Just know that the girl is twice as smart as you are.” His eyebrow rose at that. “She, at least, had the common sense to seek some alliances.” He blinked rapidly, pinning his friend with a hard stare after.

“What for?” If someone had been giving her trouble, Arthur should have dealt with the matter. “I left her in your care.”

“Aye. But she has kin here. I cannot do as I please.” That was a fair point. One which nevertheless earned his friend another hard stare. “Be reasonable. She is surrounded by her brother or her aunt or some other pesky Northerner. If I as much as sneeze in her direction it will bring the eyes of the whole keep upon us. And the King wishes her observed even without that. Viserys is barely permitted to see her despite the daily tantrums.”

“What does the vermin want with Lyanna?” He’d expected the King would show some interest, but to isolate her. That seemed a little too much interest. Arthur shrugged. “No Essosi coin, Dayne. What do you know?”

“I do not know anything,” the knight insisted. “I do suspect, however, that they are waiting to see if she shows any signs of breeding.” That was blunt. Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from asking for a repeat. “There was never a confession from her, of course. But you know how it is.”

“And if she is?” Lyanna, with child? He could hardly imagine that. A truly terrifying thought. A truly exhilarating notion.

“Moon tea, I imagine. Few men would take her with a bastard.” His jaw clenched. “Although, to be fair, those who would, might not be very fortunate choices.” Ladder-climb, grasping toads, Rhaegar thought.

“Charming,” he countered. “I would rather end her misery myself.” Arthur finally moved from his spot, drawing a heavier tunic over his chest. “I don’t suppose the little fool knows what awaits her.”

“She knows enough, it would seem, that she has made fast friends with Robert Baratheon. Her father encourages the endeavour. I am yet undecided whether she cultivates the man’s company of her own volition though.”  

Robert Baratheon, was it? He was not averse to a good, old-fashioned pummelling. “And what does Baratheon think of it?”

“He is a particular friend of Eddard’s. That makes it rather difficult to judge. As far as I can tell though, he is not averse to aiding his friend.” That did not necessarily mean he had any sort of design on Lyanna. It did not mean that he didn’t either. That left him nowhere truly.

“All the more reason to see the girl. I am growing impatient by the by.” Arthur yawned. At the very least he had managed to put himself together enough that they could be on their way. The knight gave him one short glance as though to assure himself that he was prepared. Rhaegar tsked. Dayne should have known he was, in fact, more than prepared.

“One more thing,” his friend turned around, “that aunt of hers has a child. I advise keeping an eye out for that one.”

He inclined his head to the side. “Her aunt?” Why was Dayne telling him that? “Never you mind that, Dayne. I will see Lyanna now, if you do not mind.”

Arthur did not mind, of course, for he shrugged and beckoned him forth. “Keep to the shadows as much as you can. Most of the keep will be asleep, but one can count on a few odd birds still lurking about.” He nodded. Rhaegar had no plans of being caught. He followed Arthur without.

The Kingsguard led him about the corridors until they reached a far narrower passageway. “Go through this. The last door is hers. I cannot promise she will see you though.”

“You are most confusing , Dayne, but you shan’t deter me.” And with that, he entered the passageway.

He’d not been in that part of the keep before. It made sense that he would not have. Rhaegar pressed his weight against the door. Most fortunately, he found it open. For some reason that put him ill at ease. Certainly, she was in her own home, where no ills could reach her, and yet his heart still quivered.

His reception was not exactly what he imagined it would be. Indeed, the wide-awake she-wolf pinned him with a glare. In the candlelight he could make out the downward turn of her lips. He imagined that would fade as soon as she realised who it was. Instead, she jumped out of bed and put her hand on her hips. “To what do I owe the honour?” she questioned, keeping her voice low enough as he closed the door behind him. “Might be my aunt is unavailable.”

“What?” The second time her aunt was mentioned. “Woman, I have no idea why your aunt would be important to me.” Was there something in the water? Might be milk of the poppy in the watered wine?

“You lie as easy as you breathe,” the she-wolf accused, reeling back as though his mere presence brought her pain. “And without a shred of shame as well. Do you think me a witless fool?”

Hackles rising, he closed the distance between them in a few short steps. No matter how she tried to get away, caught between him and the bed, she stood little chance. “Are you trying to test my patience?”

“Nay; you fool. I am trying to smack you.” And smack him she did. Her palm landed on against his cheek. “My aunt? Why would you bed my aunt?”

He froze. He had bedded her aunt. How would she know about that though? And then it hit him. Dayne’s words about the child. The stinging in his cheek did not even bother him as much. She was not done though.

“Do not think you can crawl your way into my bed. I am not that much of a fool.” Lyanna pushed against him. He simply tightened his hold on her wrist, allowing her to fret and exert herself. “How long have you been here precisely? How dare you come to me like this, as though you have a right.”

He sneered at the impertinence and shook her. Miraculously, she quietened. “Right, she says. Why, have you decided to favour Robert Baratheon?” Lyanna a shivered, or shuddered. It was difficult to say which. “As for your aunt, devils take her. I care not one whit about the woman and you are touched in the head if you think otherwise.”

She scowled harder. “Liar. There is a child.”

“Buggering hells, woman, I know naught about any child. Most likely your aunt fell upon some fellow willing to indulge her.”

“Are you saying you did not bed her?” To lie or not to lie. He kept silent. “Well? Did you or did you not take her to lover?”

Rhaegar chuckled. “I’d sooner nurture a viper. I did take her, ‘tis true, but at her instigation.” Lyanna bristled and pushed harder against him. “Listen to me, you little fool; I do not care about that bitch. As for her child, that is even less my problem. If she has one then she owes it to her husband.”

“I know what my uncle looked like,” she shot back.

He rolled his eyes and picked her up off of the ground. “Stop that or I’m taking a hand to you. And listen to what I am saying. What I did before you came into my life is irrelevant to us.” It seemed for a moment as though she might disagree. “Why does this matter to you? I do not care about her.”

“She is my aunt. She is-” As Lyanna struggled to piece her thoughts together he noted the look on her face spoke little of anger. “I hate the both of you.”

“You, by any chance, are you jealous?” She heartily denied the accusation levied her way. He did not believe a word of it. “You are adorable.” She protested at that as well. “And to think my main concern was finding you enamoured with that Baratheon whelp.”

“I am not a stray that goes abegging before every door.” Annoying as her words were, he could brush them away. Rhaegar set Lyanna back on her feet. “And Robert is merely doing Ned a favour.”

“Good.” Brushing back a stray strand of hair, he looked down into her eyes.

“And I am not jealous.”

“A bit too late to deny it.” She tried once more. “I like that though.” Her face turned red. “As I said, adorable.” Lifting both hands, Rhaegar framed her face and tugged her upwards gently.

“Nay; I am mad to you. You cannot be thinking to seduce me when I am in such a state.” Showed how much she knew about seduction. He fused his lips to hers. “Rhaegar, I mean it. I am trying to scold you. This is some cheek. Not only do you bed my aunt but you have the temerity to accuse me of-” He kissed her again, cutting off her speech.   

“Leave that for another time. We can argue about your aunt on the morrow.” Was she breeding? That would certainly explain her moodiness. She mellowed under his ministrations. “Aye?”

“I am not forgiving you. I just,” she trailed off as he reached for the lacing on the back of her kirtle. Blasted strings, so much more intricate than the easily removable garments he’d grown used to finding her in. “This does not mean you are off the hook.”

“I have no protest to offer.” Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she held onto him. He was busy tugging on the shoulders of her garment, peeling it away from her flesh. “Why the bloody hells are you wearing this to bed?”

She muttered under her breath but pitched in with a few helpful twists and turns. The kirtle fell to the ground before long and he fully encouraged her to step out of it. She yawned. “To bed with you, lady,” he pushed her backwards gently. Lyanna went without much protest, climbing in. He followed, after discarding his boots and baring the door to stop an accidental discovery.

Lyanna settled against the pillows, backing herself up high enough that she was sitting more than reclining. She gestured towards the candle. Rhaegar rose over her and put it out. “Demanding wench.”

“You owe me,” she pointed out, no doubt thinking of his past regrettable mistakes. Catching him by the hand, she pulled at his arm until it was wounded up around her waist. “And you had best make good on that if you want me to forgive you.”

He did not bother getting into another argument with her. Instead, he turned on his side, tugging her down until her side was pressed into his front. Lyanna sighed softly before she followed his movement, her front pressed to his. One of her arms rose between them until her fingers splayed over his heart. “Dolt,” she said. “I have missed you so very badly.”

“I have missed you more.” She cracked one eye open. He could see it in the dark as they were so very close. He rubbed small circles into her back, the warmth of her body melting into him. On instinct, he brushed his lips to her forehead. She returned the affection with a kiss of her own, landing at the corner of his mouth. He turned, just so, until her lips pressed firmly to his. “Thought you were tired.”

“Not tired enough to stop.” Her other hand was somewhere at the nape of his neck, fingers twisting in his hair. Her nails scraped against his skin, causing a shiver to travel down his spine.

“Who resides in the chamber neighbouring this one?” he questioned, hoping she did not notice the faint strain in his voice.

“No one. It used to be Nan’s bedchamber.” A lucky enough thing, he considered, dipping into another kiss. Who was Nan though? It hardly signified for apparently she was not there any longer. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I owe you.” She draped one leg over his waist. “And you did say you were not too tired. If that still stands,” he trailed off.

“Someone could hear. One of my brothers might take it into his head to check on me.” As if he cared one whit about that at that point. She did not care either if the slackness of her limbs was aught to go by. “It could end bad.” He grabbed at the cloth covering her hips and tugged upwards. “Besides, we find ourselves in a proper bed for the first time. Might as well make the best of it.”

“Do men ever think beyond this?” she questioned. She allowed him to settle her over him once he was done with the chemise. “Never you mind. If you answer that I fear for my sanity.”

“Surely ‘tis not as bad as all that.” One of her hands found his and pulled it to her chest. He palmed softly, with great care. Strangely enough, the globe seemed fuller somehow. She was sitting up after all. Fingers pressed into her flesh. Lyanna rewarded him with a low sound. Something like a grunt. “You know, I think you are enjoying yourself.”

“Not half as much as you are, I’ll bet.” He did not deny that. There was a certain quality of enjoyment in his explorations. Mostly though, he felt frustrated. They were no longer in a world all of their own. “Wait; not so hard.” He pulled back. He’d not been pressing any harder than usual.

“Have I hurt you?” he sat up, bringing them to a level. Cupping her breast more fully, he made certain to apply no pressure. The half-joking thought that had flashed through his mind during their argument came once more. “There, there.” The kirtle she’d worn when he came to her was aught one would wear during the day. That indicated she might have fallen asleep earlier in the day. “Let me make it better.”

The shift she wore was finally taken from her in its entirety,returning his arms to her sides, brushing his palms up and down the length of her body. If he could somehow catch her during the morning, alas, he could not linger as long as he wished. Mayhap he could have Arthur check for that. At the same time though, if she was somehow managing to keep others in the dark about her condition, attracting any attention upon her might ruin that. Abandoning her for just a moment he rolled them over, bringing the covers over them. Lyanna grunted at the treatment and complained softly, apparently conscious of the fact that they had to keep relatively quiet.

“I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.” Her arms curled around him. “This is not making me feel any better.” He smiled down at her.

“What exactly would you have of me?”

“If you would be so kind, I find myself in need of warmth.” Affection, she must have meant, for to him it seemed the both of them burned hot. He felt her hands move behind him, mayhap to encourage action on his part.

“Do not move. As you said, my love, I owe you. And I do intend to repay you.”

“Then do so. Or are you to spend your night torturing me?” He refrained from pointing out he was enduring as much torture as she was. That would not matter to her by that point. “Rhaegar, do I have to beg?”

“It might help,” he allowed, more to get a rise out of her than aught else.

“You are such a bastard. I hope you know you’ll pay for this.”

“I cannot wait.” It was bound to be entertaining if nothing else. He chuckled at her expression. “Do not take on so.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h a p p y h o u s e h o l d s....
> 
> You asked for it. You have it.
> 
> I better get something too tho.


	19. Discordant Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahha...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna groaned in annoyance, clutching him tighter. “What are you doing?” she asked groggily, lifting her head to glare at him with the power of a thousand incensed suns. “The sun is not even risen.” Gods, but it felt good to have him slumbering next to her, or even moving about and interrupting her rest. It was truly the strangest thing how such small matters could affect one. She burrowed deeper into his side, inhaling abruptly. A result, no doubt, of his elbow connecting with her chest. “Rhaegar,” she complained, shoving at his arm ineffectually.

He was not a messy sleeper. Not like her, who spread her limbs all over and twisted the sheets and covers in numerous incredibly restrictive forms. Nay, he was as perfectly still as one could be, moulding after her from time to time if she insisted enough with the moving about that he had no choice. Thus to have him disturb her was novel. Novel indeed, and not at all welcome. Was he trying to get up?

Her eyes snapped open and she took him in, with the end of that thought striking deep within. He looked back at her, looming half-over her prone form. Rhaegar rested on his elbow, watching her with an amused expression. “You have to let go now.” She growled in response, putting her head back down and closing her eyes, a thick sound sliding through her teeth like tar through cracks in a wall. “The sun will have arrived soon enough.”

Her protest, keenly delivered through a series of unintelligible grunts, elicited a rumbling chuckle from her partner. “Might be I should wake you indeed, woman. You’re nothing but a trouble.”

“Aye, but wrapped in a nice enough cloth that ‘tis worth the bother,” she re-joined, moving her hold lower upon his arm so as to better keep him tethered to her. Wiggling, she curled around him hoping to deter further attempts to depart on his part. Nevertheless, her valiant contributions did not, in fact, stop Rhaegar from tugging himself free.

“I cannot stay here with you,” he spoke quietly, as though regret weighed him down. As it should. To leave the defenceless woman to the mercy of infuriating kin and inquisitive members of the royal family, it was simply unconscionable. Her lips curled downwards and her frown earned her a light lips-graze to her forehead. “Do you want one of your brothers to find me here and take my head?”

“They wouldn’t go for your head.” She cracked one eye open and latched onto him once more. “Not for the one that counts. The other I cannot promise the safety of.” He choked, presumably on his breath. She smirked, savouring her victory. Life was sweet.

“The thought amuses you?” He seemed scandalised.

“Nay; indeed now. I would be the first, err, the second to mourn such a keen loss. And to think I have only just acquainted myself it,” she paused, rolled her head back with a thoughtful hum and then continued, “it. How can you think so little of my care for you?”

“How could I possibly think more when you are not budging?” he answered in kind. “Be a good girl and release me.” He was in jest, she could tell for the urgency had faded, almost as though he’d decided he could spare a few more moments in her presence. Thrilled at the prospect, she sat up as well, to match heights as best she could.

“The door won’t open,” she pointed out. “I doubt any of my brothers could force it, if they tried.” He eyed the object with a modicum of suspicion. Lyanna tugged his chin until he faced her. “Just stay awhile longer.”

“You put me in a dangerous position.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and she shifted to accommodate his hold. “A few more moments and that is all.” Lyanna nodded. It was monstrously unfair. Other women, luckier women, never had to worry about aught taking their men away. She, on the other hand, had been cursed to feel most despondent at Rhaegar’s impending absence.

“Where will you be?” Might be she could see herself too wherever that was and keep him company for a little while. It was certainly a nice thought, that she could sneak away undetected. Right from under her father’s nose.

“’Tis best you do not know.” Disagreement erupted forth, but it was swiftly quelled by a well-placed finger and a reminder that no matter how much they might individually wish it, ‘twas not to be that only the two of them existed in a vacuum of spec and time where her complaints would not be overheard.

“Will you at least come back, this night?” Hopefully, crossed fingers would do the trick. Lyanna breathed in slowly, anticipating his reply. The arms around her waist gave a soft squeeze, not nearly enough to satisfy her. And she hoped, nowhere near enough to satisfy him. “I would feel much relieved to have you here, with me. The bed is certainly big enough.”

By the standards of any head of households it was not. But Lyanna reckoned that after years of sleeping on a straw-filled palette, he would find such a setting at least decent. In truth she’d not minded the palette. There was Rhaegar and straw and the most welcoming warmth along with a lack of space which more or less forced them to stick together. She enjoyed that. She enjoyed it even more that he acted as though they still slept on the straw palette even with a bed as large as hers.

“And risk my life yet again. You are certainly something, Lyanna Stark.” Bracing herself against his shoulders, she cocked her head to the side, producing a sound of agreement. “I suppose someone has to watch over you.”

“I am liable to seek out trouble.” She shouldn’t encourage him. “I could get hurt and then going back home would be so much more troublesome. You ought to keep an eye on me.”   

“And a hand just to be certain.” She giggled, hiding her face behind her palms as his hand echoed his words with a well-placed grab. “One of these days you will realise ‘twas a big mistake to take me on. Fortunately for me, I’ve tradition on my side and you are quite firmly stuck in this position.”

“On my knees?” she asked innocently, hands moving downwards.

“Wretched cat, you’ve an insolent tongue. I ought to–” she leaned forwards and pecked him on the lips. One eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. Another monstrously unfair facts of life; Rhaegar could pull incredulously inquisitive off flawlessly.       

“An insolent tongue.” Shrugging along with the words, Lyanna kissed him lightly again. “Very much so.” She was acting the child. And she half-feared he would grow annoyed with her, however, she was not about to let up.

“If you are looking to goad me, it will not work.” That remained to be seen.

“Are you certain? I could try harder.”

“Most assuredly.” He did kiss her something worth a fortune though. There was little reason to complain. “And now, I take my leave.” As good as his word, he released her and climbed down from the bed.

“You did not answer me.” Dainty feet carried her over the distance he’d imposed between them as she hurried off the bed winching at the coolness of the floors. Even with the hot springs some chill could not be thwarted. She had, however, misjudged her capabilities for as soon as she was down, all the blood fled, leaving her woozy and light-headed.

Balancing as best she could, Lyanan took a precarious step backwards, hoping she’d not put too much distance between herself and the bed. Strong arms caught her though before she could do anyone, let alone herself, permanent damage. “Demanding girl,” Rhaegar chided. “As obstinate as you are, you cannot help yourself, can you? Go back to sleep.” He shooed her gently, a shove towards the bed for good measure.

“You still have not given me an answer.” The mattress dipped beneath her weight, soft dawn caressing her limbs. “You will come, won’t you? This night?” Just the thought that he mightn’t made her shudder.

“You may depend upon it.” She brightened up at that, nodding approvingly. He turned serious, mien hardening. “I want you to have a care though. I know not what plan is brewing, but I can tell you ‘tis not good. Eyes wide open, Lyanna.”

“What do you mean? If you speak of my father, he is working himself up for naught. Robert already knows I would never consider his suit.” He made a sharp sound. “’Tis true. He is not a fool. Assured of his charm, might be, and entirely too used to getting women to swoon, but that won’t work on me.”

“It had better not. I’ve killed men for less.” His warning, if she could call it that, was laughable.

“You haven’t.” She doubted he’d ever fought for a woman in his life. Rhaegar pinned her with a glare. “And you won’t have a chance to now. Robert is not your opponent. In any way.” She smiled up at him. “Does not even come close.” Much as she enjoyed his outbursts, Baratheon truly was not the one who should bear the brunt of his anger.

“Sometimes I wonder at your cunning, woman.” There he went again, back to needling her. “If I didn’t know any better I would think you’d lost your heart to me.”

“Losing it implies I had no choice. I gave it willingly.” Among other things. She started. “I meant to give you something.” Flipping her pillow to the side, she picked up a long string of glass beads. From the look on his face, he recognised it.

“What?” She placed it in his hand, closing his fist around it.

“When all of this is over, give it back to me, aye?” She tugged his face closer to hers and whispered in his ear, “I promise you will have plenty of reason.”

“Aye; sauce-box that you are, I do not doubt you’ll give me fair reason.” He kissed the top of her head and tucked her in. Regretful though she was to let him go, it was rather clear that ‘twas for the best.

He lifted the bar from her door and deposited it to the side. He opened the door slowly and peeked without. It seemed as though he would be gone in a flash, thus Lyanna closed her eyes, determined to meditate upon the moments she had thus far spent with him. And avoid, of course, any thoughts of her aunt, the King, the Queen, her father, so on, so forth.

If she were to be entirely truthful, she was a tad disappointed that she’d not managed to get more of him. But then she’d been tired and he had undoubtedly been thus himself, for no protest had come from him at the cuddling. Turning on her side, Lyanna buried her face in the pillow. One of the other pillows was drawn to her chest, held onto as though it were a lifeline.    

“How very annoying,” she murmured as a gust of cool air slid across her cheek. She couldn’t even sleep properly. Might be if she turned on her stomach. But that would involve movement. She did not want to move; her limbs had thawed enough that the quiet was near enough to induce sleep. Except that she felt as though aught was missing.

Her eyes closed ever so slowly. Lyanna bit on her lower lip, imposing upon herself with a clear command that she was not to open her eyes, under any circumstances. She failed. She knew she would. Her eyes opened at a series of sounds coming from without. It sounded almost as though someone had taken a tumble. How very odd.

Her brain caught up with that and she exploded in a flurry of movement, falling off the bed in her haste. She threw the door open and barely held back from screaming. At her brother that was. Caught in a most inelegant sprawl, Brandon was fairly wrestling Rhaegar and Dayne was leaning against the wall, looking for all the world, as though he were having a god time. Or if not good, than at the very least entertaining.

He shrugged at her accusatory look. “Ser Dayne,” she hissed, ignoring the two men completely engrossed in their contest. “What is the meaning of this? Were you not supposed to be-”

Rudely interrupted by something heavy and sold knocking into her, Lyanna stumbled backwards with a yelp. She caught onto the doorframe nails digging into the wood as the pressure increased slightly before disappearing altogether. She glared towards the source of her pain and misery.

Her brother, having finally noticed her, after nearly knocking her over remained sufficiently distracted for a well-placed punch to catch him. Another yelp left her lips. Brandon could oft be highhanded. That did not mean enjoyed seeing him injured.

“Gods’ sake, Rhaegar. What are you doing?” Rhaegar shot her a dry look. Her brother climbed back to his feet and at a glance seemed about ready to delve into another attack. “Stop it, the both of you. Ser Dayne, do something.”

“Leave Dayne out of it,” hissed an exasperated Brandon who had stopped doing battle long enough to communicate. Lyanna was fairly certain lightning had struck the heart tree in the godswood as well. “What was he doing in your bedchamber? And why did you allow him?”

The reference was mayhap supposed to remind her that she did have weapons in her bedchamber, which Brandon knew about, and could fain defend herself, to some degree at the very least, if she had the desire. And to that, she crossed her arms over her chest, set herself in a fierce glare and mutinously refused to give him a reason. Rhaegar was nowhere near as concerned with keeping peace though. “What do you think we were doing, Stark?” Clearly, he’d never heard that saying about sleeping dogs. And a fierce dog her brother was, snapping his jaws menacingly as he turned to his foe.

“Obviously because I wanted him there, she responded at long last, hoping that might give both of her dear fools pause. It did. For Brandon it worked at least. “I was going to tell you, but Ned said it was not the right moment.”

“Ned knows?” That might have not been a smart move on her side. She made a soft sound. “Ned knows? And I do not?” Definitely not a smart move.

“Does your brother have hearing problems?” Rhaegar taunted, absolutely enjoying the tension. He could be such a bastard at times. “Perhaps you should repeat yourself.”

“Don’t start, Rhaegar.”

Her snapping brought Brandon back down from wherever he’d flown to. “Rhaegar? As in the elder prince?”

“What gave it away?” Did he have to act as though Brandon posed no threat? She would never understand men and their constant need to show superiority.

“Rhaegar!” Lyanna made her way between the two of them. That did naught to dampen their staring contest. “As for you, Brandon., aye, the elder prince. I know no other Rhaegar.” She wished she could explain in full and give her brother a reason to believe ‘twas for the best. But this was neither the time, nor the place.

“Bad enough that you know this one,” her kin muttered. “And why the seven hells are you getting between us?” He reached out to grab her by the arm and, possibly, drag her out of the way, when she was yanked back. “Unhand my sister, traitor. I might even be persuaded to give you a swift death.”

“Promises, promises,” Rhaegar answered mockingly, simply holding her up against him for a moment. She suspected it aided that Brandon bristled at the sight of them. She would have offered her opinion were it not for the fact that she was more or less certain they would find a way to twist her words into another reason to brawl. “You should go back in,” he told her. “It is dangerous out here.”

“Lyanna, go back to your bedchamber, now,” Brandon ordered at about the same time. “And you, you’ll pay for this.”

“Brandon,” she whined, digging her heels in as a response to his demand. Why was it that her brothers thought they could order her about with nary a care for what she wanted? One of these days, one of them would end up annoying her beyond belief and then there would be hell to pay. If they ever got to that day.

“For what?” the Prince encouraged, however. How could he find this amusing?

“You absolute villain! You seduced my sister.” Lyanna blushed. It was a close thing. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Rhaegar snorted. “I seduced her? Clearly, you do not know your sister.” Clearly, Brandon was going to have an apoplectic fit any moment now. “As for shame, I confess I feel none.”

Her brother sputtered incoherently lifting his weapon in what could only be termed a vicious strike. Rhaegar pushed her out of the way and she was caught by Ser Arthur whose direction was better than hers, in that he forced her away from the fray. Not that she agreed in the least. “This is preposterous.” Rhaegar should not have goaded Brandon. And Brandon should not have jumped into an attack. “What if someone were to hear?” They were not exactly quiet either.

Lyanna would tell herself later that she had a cursed tongue or a wicked mind, for as soon as the words were out her mouth, footfall coming from the small corridor leading into the wing caught her attention. She froze like the proverbial deer in the face of danger, all muscles clenched, caught in the instinctive need to run, yet incapable of doing so. Her stomach churned unpleasantly and lifted hand to her mouth to stop herself from retching. ‘Twas not an easy thing.      

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought this was just an innocent lovers' rendezvous. How many of you saw this coming?
> 
> Well, I'm off to gross myself out with Outlast 2. Let me know what you think and have a nice day!


	20. Before The Fall

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sliver clinking of the chains reverberated through the spacious cell. It was only him there. Rhaegar tugged once more at his bindings, considering the length and sturdiness. It was not such a very dire situation. He would have loved little more than to have his hands free, alas that was not to be. Instead, then cell in which he was contained had a small window, Not nearly bog enough to crawl through but more than bid enough to slip aught inside. Which was just as well.

The door opened, signalling that he’d been brought food. Everything ran on a strict schedule. Prisoners, if there were more beside him, were afforded one meal a day, at its beginning. Blackened bread and a cup of water. Better than naught and better than some other things he’d eaten during his time. The guard bringing the food in shot his a look of pure hatred. For a brief moment Rhaegar feared his cup might meet an unfortunate end. But nay, Stark men appeared to be well disciplined. For what it was worth. Then he would spend the rest of his day in solitude, giving him ample time to consider his situation. The hours could be easily counted by the changing of the guards which he heard, having been given a cell fairly close to their table.       

Leaning in, he picked the bread up and broke it in two under the careful watch of the guard. The man snarled, but did little besides. Rhaegar paid him no mind; he had other matters to deal with. Once caught by the men come to inspect what the commotion near Lyanna’s bedchamber was about, he had fought off as many of them as he could. With all his skill, the sheer numbers had been overwhelming and the blow delivered to the back of his head numbing. The last he recalled was a cacophony of voices ringing out in discordant din. After he’d woken up in a dark and damp place, these dungeons, half on a straw palette with a tattered blanket a short distance away and the taste of blood lingering within his mouth. Since then he’d done his utmost best to commit to mind every last detail in hopes of gaining some insight into how he might escape.

His father’s absence was worrying as well. The man should have at least made the journey down to taunt him. But so far, not even a whisper had been heard. He took a drink of his water and barely held back from pulling a face. It was stale. Still, he swallowed with some difficulty, placing the cup down with a decided motion.

The guard was still standing in the doorway. Another man had joined him though. Both looked at him, blocking the door. It would be foolish to try rushing past them. “I was here when you travelled to the Wall,” the shorter man said. “Lord Stark offered you his hospitality, and you, what did you do He paused and raised his head to face them. “A wonder you’ve a head on your shoulders still. Got his girl in trouble too.” Which was why he planned on taking Lyanna with him. If she would leave it all behind. But first he had to escape. “Does that mean naught to you?”

“Her won’t speak,” the other man warned. He sported no kinder a look, but something in his face warned that he was the more dangerous of the two. “Men like him never do. Poor girl was a fool enough to trust him for whatever reason; his birth no doubt.”  They acted as though she was in great peril. All the more reason to make his escape. “Leave him. Can’t touch him with a feather until it’s allowed.” He was treated to another withering glare before the door was shut upon him.

What manner of trouble was Lyanna in? Trusting that they’d figured out she had not been coerced into allowing him in her chamber, no doubt her father had had much to say upon the matter. Arthur had also warned that they might be considering moon tea. And the gods knew what punishment his father would devise. There was an easy enough fix for that.

Voices from without interrupted his musings. Rhaegar moved closer to the wall, allowing the shadows to envelop him. He recognised none of those he heard, not well enough to say with any certainty that he knew whom he would face.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened with a frail groan and a small shape made its way through. His gaze sharpened upon Benjen Stark who lifted a finger to his lips. Turning towards the light coming from the hall, he spoke, “I shan’t be but a moment.”

“Don’t bruise him too hard,” a guard warned, “or else there’ll be trouble for us.” Lyanna’s brother nodded and the light faded. He returned his attention to Rhaegar and shook his head.

“I tried to come earlier, but everything was too tense.” As though he’d care about those trials.

“Lyanna?” he demanded quietly.

Benjen gave another shake of the head. His heart experienced a moment of stillness. “I do not know. She has been locked away in her chamber and none but father and the King have been to see her, with the exception of the girl who brings her food.  Don’t reckon she’s said a thing though; the king is growing impatient.”   

The boy pulled out a sharp knife from his sleeve and handed it hilt first to Rhaegar. “You’ll need this. Ned is trying to find you a sword.”

“’Tis too much of a risk,” he opposed. Even with weapons, he could hardly be expected to fight off all the foes no doubt waiting to snare him.

“We’ll have to take it. The King is decided to have your head and even with the Queen’s pleading, it does not seem as though he’ll let up. Besides, you did desert from the Night’s Watch. That alone is punishable by death. There are some people, they are willing to help.”

That was nowhere near enough an explanation. Rhaegar would have demanded more but for the knock on the door. Benjen groaned softly. He, on the other hand, buised himself with tucking the weapon away. “Keep that hidden. I’ve to go now.”

True enough, one of the guards poked his head in, hissing that the King would be arriving. Benjen turned towards him, ashen. He said not one word, as he’d run out of time, but the look upon his face was more than enough to make one queasy. Rhaegar watched him leave, feeling a sense of foreboding creep upon him.

Not long was Lyanna’s brother gone that the door to his cell opened once more and in stepped his father, whom Rhaegar saw for the first time after many a year in which he had attempted to forget him. It hadn’t worked. Or it had partly worked. He’d forgotten more of the subtle features, but broadly the image held enough similarities. Only he wondered if the man had always been that old, his face wrinkled, and dark spots visible upon his hands.

He would have fain delivered an impertinent line at the look upon his father’s face only that he was cut short when Ser Barristan entered in the King’s wake, pulling after him a pale-faced little waif. His little waif, that was. His tongue surged to the roof of his mouth, pressing brutally into the unyielding ceiling to stop any sound from getting out. It was different. It was not at all how it was supposed to be.

And he could no better help himself than he could stop breathing. Without a second thought his eyes darted towards the she-wolf. She, however, avoided his gaze, electing to look at a point somewhere beyond him. Uncomfortable, he shifted, forgetting briefly that they were not alone. That was, until his father’s voice brought him back. “So it is you, traitorous child? I had hoped they were wrong.”

Eyeing his sire, Rhaegar bared his teeth in a mocking grin. “I so regret being a disappointment to you, father.”

“Do not call me that!” the ruler thundered. “I will not have you make a mockery of such sacred ties.” Rhaegar would have laughed had he the wherewithal. He turned towards Lyanna, grabbing her chin between his fingers, twisting her face in his direction. “Have a care, boy, or this one here will bear the consequences.”

“What does she have to do with anything?” he heard himself asking, hating the voice sounded. Filled with dread.

His father turned away, but brought Lyanna closer. Now that she was no longer partially hidden from sight, he could look into her face his fill. Not that it helped matters any. She was just as frightened. “You know very well.”

“Nay; I do not.” His denial further incensed his father. Rhaegar was not about to admit to this weakness. “Best you return her where you found her.” Lyanna’s eyes filled with tears In his heart, he knew some sort of advantage had been lost.

“You deny having despoiled her?” The King jerked the she-wolf by the arm and she yelped. The motion had not been anywhere near rough enough to cause her pain. “Aye; that look upon your face. She tried to one of the guards. Her sire finally took notice of her wild ways.”

Teeth clenched, Rhaegar refused to give his foe the satisfaction of knowing he was concerned. “She was not partial to me,” he answered the question posed to him. “But then, I have learned from you, father.” The King’s face turned a puce colour.

“Stay your insolent tongue!”  Lyanna was pressed forth and she stumbled over the hem of her skirts, faltering. “Is that true? Did he take you without your will?” The man was not waiting for an answer. “I think you lie. ‘Tis not what this here lady told us. By her account, she was only to willing to sully her honour. And you,” his father made a sound of disgust, “never had much honour to speak of. Have I the right of it, girl?”

By that point Lyanna was crying quietly. Aerys snorted and gave her a strong enough push that she stumbled over. Mercifully, Barristan Selmy caught her, helping her straighten. Rhaegar saw that as an opportunity to intervene. “Leave her out of this. It does not concern her. You’ve me, do you not? What does she matter?”

The man laughed and Selmy took a step back, taking Lyanna with him. By the way he held her, Rhaegar could tell he was trying, in some small measure, to shield her. He would have preferred Arthur there, as Barristan the Bold would not be much aid. He was staunch in his commitment to his duties. “You do not think me so very ignorant, I hope. Well woman, now we come to that choice I told you of.” Lyanna shuddered, tears welling up yet again. His father, on the other hand, seemed to take pleasure in her discomfort.

Selmy provided her with a dagger. And the King saw fit to provide explanations. “This wench of yours has a chance to save her hide. The only thing she must do is carry out the King’s justice in exchange.” No wonder she was weeping. “Either that, or it is her head.”

“Your Majesty, I am begging you–“

“Aye, you’re quite good at that. Begging suits you.” He laughed. “Oh, I daresay you would have been impressed with the way she pleaded for your life. This one should have taken up mummery. A pity the act did not hold.”

“I will not do it,” Lyanna wailed at long last, throwing away her weapon.

“You forfeit your life?”

“Nay, she does not.”

“I do.”

They had spoken at the same time. Rhaegar hurried to address more words before she did. “She does not forfeit her life. Lyanna, listen, you have to.” She was shaking her head, wiping away tears. “I want you to.”

“How touching,” the King observed coldly. “Even kinslayers have hearts. Are you quite certain you will not do it?” That he asked of Lyanna in whose hands Selmy pressed the blade he had retrieved. “Refuse and I shall understand you have chosen to share his fate.”

“Lyanna, just strike true.” He would have loved nothing more than to stab his weapon into what he knew would be unresisting flesh. He would win that skirmish, even bound. Selmy he would likely not be able to take down with a dagger; nevertheless, Lyanna would be out of immediate danger and her family would likely be able to obtain clemency from Viserys.

“I refuse. Your Majesty, I am willing to share his fate.” She dropped the blade to the ground and dropped to her knees. His protests were ignored and the weapon removed. And, to his consternation, he now understood the blame the guards heaped upon him.  

“You will lose your head, you understand?” she nodded. He, however, was on the verge of rising. Benjen had said they had a way of saving him. Might be Lyanna knew aught. Might be she truly was that great at mumming. Except that she had not been in contact with her kin, as far as her brother had disclosed. That certainly put a damper on any feeling of hope. He held back on account of that same hope nevertheless.

They were abandoned to darkness and solitary confinement with a look of pity from Selmy. Lyanna had not been bound. Likely they did not consider her a threat of any sort. The she-wolf was crying still, hugging herself in an almost pathetic manner. With nary a thought but to offer her comfort, he took her in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin, a shushing sound following close. “You should have struck me.”

“I cannot. ‘Tis all my fault. If I hadn’t–“

“Do not say that. You are not at fault.” He pulled her deeper into the embrace until not even air remained between them. “Are you hurt?”

She blinked up at him. “Nay. You took quite a blow to the head.” He felt her fingers in his hair, pressing against his scalp. “I was so frightened.” Shed was not telling him something. The wincing and lack of balance, her tears and the other changed he’d observed.

“Hush. I am well.” She latched onto him, holding tightly for a few moments before her grip relaxed.

“If only I would have left matters as they were. But I just had to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.” Lamentations would not aid them overmuch. Rhaegar stroked along her back gently, up and down, hoping it would calm her some. Should he share her brother’s visit with her? “And now look what’s happened? I have endangered all of us.”

All of us? He pushed her back a smidgeon. Why had she used that manner of phrasing? “Lyanna, if you wish to share something with me, you can do it. Whatever it is.”

“I think–“ she spoke upon a brief breath, cut short too soon. “I think there must be a child, Rhaegar.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “It sounds crazy, how could it not, but the symptoms fit.” She drew back even further, breaking free of his hold. “We have–I could not kill you. Even without the child. I am so sorry.”

He was stuck on her suspicion though.  A child with Lyanna. Benjen had better have the best plan ever conceived. “Listen to me; we will not perish. You and me, and our child,” he touched a hand to her still-flat abdomen, “we’ll survive this.” A child. He exhaled a long breath. His own child. He had a duty to that child. The brother would likely wish to save her. They would agree to it. “How do you know there is a child?”

“I was supposed to,” she paused and cleared her throat. “When I realised there was naught to show for it, I panicked. I had overheard some talk, you know? Servants can be awfully informative.” He felt her breath fan against his throat. “I hid that though.”        

“How?”

“A small cut. Enough to pretend they’d no reason to suspect what I did.” It was a sound plan, especially if the sheets were checked. Rhaegar nodded his head. “This should not have turned out like this. It was supposed to be you and me, returning home to Val and Dalla. What will those girls do?”

“They will be fine. Dalla can take care of herself.”

“And she’ll likely have that boy watching over her?’

“What boy?”

“That brother from the Night’s Watch.”

“What?” Had he missed that? Impossible.

“You just weren’t paying attention.”

He doubted that. Still, he trusted Dalla was capable of caring for herself and her sister. And she would find someone to settle down with, with or without him there to oversee the matter.

Together with Lyanna the hours passed much slower. Might be ‘twas his fear that slowed down time. Yet somehow nightfall came and with it footfalls without the cells, breaking through the silence. He tensed and pulled out the blade he’d previously concealed.

But he need not have worried. Light flooded the cell and the form of Ned Stark appeared in the doorway. He did not seem taken aback by the sight of his sister, thus Rhaegar presumed knowledge of his father’s actions had already spread through the keep.

The young man stepped within, followed by his younger brother and lastly, Dayne. Benjen held out a ring of keys. “Slight change of plans. We have to be going now.”

“What–“

“No time to explain, sister. Just trust that we know what to do.”

He was released from his shackles and Dayne handed him a proper sword. He took it in hand and offered a murmur of gratitude. “No need. I am coming along.”

“Are you certain?”

Arthur gave a nod.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to the end. Next cahppy is last. I hope you had fun and all. If you want, as always, let me know what you thought. 
> 
> All the best!


	21. The Chance That We'll Find Better Days

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hot summer air breezed in past the curtains, carrying with them the salted scent of the sea. So very near. Lyanna brushed one hand upon the apron and lanced up from her fish. The knife in her hand momentarily stopped her motion as her eyes zeroed in on the door. Her senses had been accurate for it opened and admitted within a small figure carrying a bucket half his size. “You did not need to do that, Jon. I was going to pick it up myself.”

Her son produced a snort-like sound, learned from his father, she did not doubt. “Father said that while he’s gone I’m the man of the house,” the child declared, proudly lifting his chin. “And men are supposed to help.” He put the bucket down and pushed it into a corner.

“The man of the house?” she echoed, eyes still upon Jon. “I will have a talk to that father of yours.” Children shouldn’t be expected to run about taking care of errands. She shook her head and returned to cleaning the fish. “No more running about, aye? Find your brother and sister and keep an eye on them.”

Jon pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Mother, don’t. I am not a child any longer.” At the ripe old age of ten summers, in his mind, he was fit to serve in one of the mercenary troops. Lyanna held back from letting him know he would be a child for the foreseeable future. ‘Twas not best fitting to engage in a yelling match with him.

Her son, her firstborn son, was truly something. Remarkably stubborn, with a short enough temper to put him on par with his father, Jon could argue a point to exhaustion. But more than that, he could wear one down like naught else. And Rhaegar encouraged him, with all the talk about men being decided and unyielding. It was no wonder Jon thought he could win against her.

What his father neglected to tell him was that stubbornness was a common traits shared by both his parents. And she had the advantage of being a mother, specifically his mother, while her poor son had learned a second lesson from his father; mothers were not to be upset. Thus, instead of challenging his claim, she put away the fish, now clean and ready to be minced.

“I am not yet prepared to spend my days worrying about your whereabouts just yet, young man. And your father, if he were here, would agree with me.” She affected a pleading look. “Please, Jon. ‘Tis important to me that I know you safe.”

The child’s expression softened. “I did not mean to worry you.” Running around the table, he caught onto her apron, although by then he was tall enough to easily reach her shoulders if he so chose. But Jon pressed his head against her and hugged her tightly. “I am not going anywhere. I promise.”

She stroked the top of his head lovingly, fingers playing in his curls. Although dark as her own tresses, he borrowed the shape from his father. Which served as a constant reminder, as far as Lyanna was concerned, that she had made the correct choice. “There, there. I am not upset with you, my love. But I need you to watch your siblings for a little while.” Strange to thick that she hadn’t known just how much hair could curls until Rhaegar had had his hair shorn and Jon strengthened the point. “Go on then, to the children.”

Needing his help with the babes was not necessarily true. Still, it would keep him out of trouble and give her the chance to finish cooking before Rhaegar returned. Or so she hoped. It had been half a moon turn already and he was running late. Lyanna simply waited to see what state he return in. ‘Twould be much easier once she pinpointed exactly what her reproaches ought to be.

She picked out another fish from the basket at her feet and began working upon it. The other door opened this time, the one positioned behind her. A girl’s head poked in. “Mother, Jon says I cannot play the harp. I want to play the harp.”

“You can play the harp, sweeting,” she answered to a couple of groans sounding out from behind her daughter. “Just do it quietly, aye?”

“Aye, mother.” Her third child barged right in past his sister. Yet young enough to run into no reprimand from anyone for tugging on perfectly good aprons, he dug his fingers into the cloth and pulled. This one was not much for speaking. He could, however, cry rivers of tears and drive her to distraction, much as she loved him.

“What is it, child?” Tearful eyes glanced up at her. Lyanna stroked his fair head like she had done for Jon.

“I miss father,” he answered in a tremulous voice.

Jon followed in as well. His sister lagged behind, standing in the doorway. He took his younger brother by the shoulders. “Your father will be back soon,” Lyanna spoke, not letting up the stroking. Jon, on the other hand, had a different idea to impart.

“What are you crying for? You are near a grown man now and men do not cry.” Her poor sons, they would be quite shocked to know their father had wept at each of their birth. “Our sister isn’t crying.”

Her youngest sniffled and looked back at her. Lyanna smiled down at him and nodded her head. She knelt so as to better comfort him. “You need not be so hard on your brother. He is still learning.” She kissed the top of her son’s head and stroked Jon’s cheek. “You boys had best get along until your father returns.” Jon nodded his head and took his brother by the hand. They left together, presumably for more lessons from the elder to the younger. Her daughter still lingered. “What is it? Do you not want to play your harp any longer?”

“I shall play when father returns,” she said, climbing atop a chair without her aid. “Can I sit with you, mother? I’ll watch from over here quietly.” She smiled shyly and arranged her skirts. Lyanna nodded towards her.

“You needn’t be quiet though,” she added after a brief moment. Not that her daughter could keep silent for long. She was quieter than her brothers, certainly, but not precisely quiet in her own right. If anything, she could tire grown men of chatter after a long enough time. “I enjoy our conversations.”

“You never did tell me, mother, why not let one of the servants do this?” Her daughter gestured to the fish and the uncut vegetables. “It would be a lot faster. And father would not mind. He keeps saying that we have servants so you don’t have to work.”

“Your father means well,” she allowed, finishing her work on the second fish. “But he does not always have the right of it. I am here by choice.” And it was not as though she always cooked the meals, from time to time the task was given to the servants. But she had grown used to doing it.

“Why do you enjoy it then?” Her brow furrowed, the girl pouted as though she could not quite piece together all that she was hearing.

She had not always enjoyed it. But practice and perfection went hand in hand, moreover they brought her joy. The quite, hum-like joy surging from a job well done. “Because you enjoy it. That might well be the best part of it.” She glanced over her shoulder at the girl. “You will undoubtedly see when you have a family of your own.”

“What do the servants do then?” She laughed. The servants had more than enough to keep them busy. Rhaegar would argue when he returned and she would take the opportunity to needle him back.

“They tend to other tasks. A house needs more than a kitchen.” She looked about her kitchen with a satisfied smile. “Why the sudden interest?” she questioned softly, reaching out for a carrot.

“I asked father if I have to be here too and he said nay.” Once more, she chuckled. That was what worried her daughter? “I do not like it like you do, mother.” She nodded approvingly.

“You need not, sweeting. Your father does have the right of it in this instance.” She did not expect the girl to like it either. For Lyanna cooking was tied to memories of her time beyond the Wall and if she had that, even the sweltering heat would not deter her. “Was that what had you worried?”

The girl shrugged and jumped down from her perch. “I will go now.”

“Will you play the harp?” She heard her daughter’s steps pause. “You may if you wish to.”

“When father returns,” she insisted once more.

“You needn’t let your brother’s teasing stop you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I shan’t mother. Truly. But I think I would like to play more when father returns.”      

“He is not alone though,” Jon let her know, frowning.

“Not alone?” ‘Twas not oft that Rhaegar brought company. When he did though, Lyanna more or less treated it as no more than an afterthought. At times it was best to invite one’s companions along. And they were not as rough as they’d been in those first years.

As if to answer her question, she heard the door creak open. Knowing one of the servants was taking care of it, she sent Jon along to collect his siblings. In the meantime she would greet whoever it was that Rhaegar had brought along.

Certain that all was in place, she trod lightly towards the small hallway where `undoubtedly the men rid themselves of their cloaks. She pasted a serene smile upon her face and was about to speak when she finally saw who it was that Rhaegar had brought. A gasp was all she managed to produce. It was more than enough to shift all attention to her.

“Lyanna? My gods, is that you?” Eddard stopped midway through his actions and stepped towards her. Before she could think any better upon it, she ran into his arms, arms which were spread apart as though waiting for her to do just that. As if he knew the thoughts running through her mind.

Her brother held her tightly for a brief moment. “Of course it is you. Damned hard to find is what you are. Did you know that? Took me enough moon turns to begin fearing I never would find you.” Well, it turned out his fear was unfounded. Lyanna murmured a question into his neck and pressed backwards. “To be honest, it was he who found me.”

“And lucky you were that I did. Like sister, like brother. You Starks know how to find trouble.” Rhaegar pried them apart, gently. Lyanna, smiling up at him, rewarded his effort with a close embrace. He hugged back, not as tightly as Ned had. “Where are the children?”

The children! They would certainly be excited with the company. Lyanna turned from one man to the other. “Waiting on us, no doubt. We should go to them, aye?”

The children, as expected had enough questions between them that the meal afforded no opportunity to discuss Ned’s presence. Rhaegar let their brood run wild, seemingly unwilling to allow their departure even when it came time for them to head to bed. No matter Lyanna’s insinuations, they were ignored in favour of pleasing the young ones. “They are a lively lot,” Ned said during a moment of peace, as in when the children turned to their father with questions. “I’ve something for you. From Brandon.” He pressed a letter into her hand, under the table. “You should speak to him, aye, after you read it.”

“What is this about, Ned?”

“Brandon’s letter will explain it better than I can.” She nodded, a smidgeon of distrust cropping up. Still, Brandon had come around, even if his help had been grudging.      

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

         

      

 

 

 

 

“This is certainly a very thorough account,” she said, handing the cluster of papers to him. Rhaegar declined her offering. “You ought to look this over. Please, Rhaegar.”

“I’ve no desire to reopen that chapter of our lives,” he answered. “It is done with.” She sighed loudly. “Nay; your brother means well, I am certain. But this serves for naught. I am not going to change my mind about this.”

“That is unfair of you. After they have worked so hard.” He shook his head and she put the letter away, sliding out of bed. She joined Rhaegar by the window, placing her arms around his shoulders. Her lips pressed against the side of his throat. “It is what you wanted, aye? To prove your innocence? We can do so.”

“He is dead, Lyanna. It hardly matters what proof has been put together now.” Aerys was not the only man that mattered. The rest of the realm was not dead. She was just about to point out that much. “Besides, I am pleased with the life we have built for ourselves here.” His hand patted her arm gently. “Your brother may visit whenever they please. I would not forbid them.”

“Do you not want to see your brother again? Your mother?” He made a noncommittal sound. “Surely they deserve something at least, something for their trouble.” He did not answer, thus she found herself obliged to try once more. “This could be good for us. Your brother is king now, and he has already ruled in your favour. You could clear your name, ask for reparations. Ask for your due.”

“And do what with that?” he questioned, surging to his feet. Lyanna stumbled backwards but caught herself before she could fall. He reached out and helped to steady her. “It is too much trouble. Whether they clear my name or not; it makes no matter.”

“What of the children then?” He looked away. “You might not wish to face it, but why should our children suffer under the uncertainty of such burdensome accusations. Their father is no traitor.” Except to the Night’s Watch, but Lyanna did recall aught about men not being pressed into service. If the King forgave him and the Watch had no dealing with matters of the realm than naught could be said. “I want them to be proud of you.”

“You are entirely too optimistic” His hands fell away from her person. “I am the older son, if my brother forgives me, his claim to the throne will be no more. But I do not want the throne any longer.”

“Prince Duncan gave up his claim. You need not take on anything you do not wish. I am certain I can speak of my kin when I say they will back Viserys’ claim if you wish it. Robert is now head of his house and he will be easily prevailed upon. And Jaime Lannister is wedded to Arthur’s sister of all people. That is three kingdoms already.”

“What about you?” he asked in return, taking her by the hand. “You would give up your chance, your father’s dream of seeing his daughter made queen?”

“My father will just have to live with the idea that his lack of wisdom was his undoing. And I do not care for any crown, if it does not come with you. Why do we always come back to this?” She gave him a cross look and returned to the bed.

“Because it matters.” She felt the mattress dip under his added weight but refused, patently, to look his way. If he was obstinate, she could match him for that. “I may not always be able to keep you like this.” That she already knew. Lyanna rolled her eyes. “As queen or even some lord’s wife, you would never lack for anything. That matters to me.”

“If we had nothing between us it would be difficult,” she admitted, “but I would not give up on this even so. We’ve had hard times before; if they return I know just how to deal with that. And does not involve leaving any of this behind.” This discussion tended to crop up whenever they spoke of the kingdoms. And she could not, for the life of her, understand his reluctance. She’d grown up in the North; she knew exactly what she was giving up. And if she said it made no matter, then he ought to believe her. As an afterthought she added upon an exhale, “Besides, ‘tis not as if you would give me up either.”

“That is different, my love. I am a mad Targaryen. You are supposed to be sane.” She shrugged and finally levelled her stare to his. “Have I told you how much I love you?” He had. She denied that with slow movement. “I haven’t?”

“Might be this Targaryen madness affects memory,” Lyanna offered with a smile.

“You already know I love you.” She laughed and twined her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her. He allowed that. “Are we certain the children are sleeping?’ She laughed even harder at that. Little children could be counted upon to create the most awkward situations.

“I think they ran themselves ragged as soon as they were done with Ned.” He made a soft noise, pushing her body towards the middle of the bed. “Were you planning on that? Oh, you absolute–“ She broke off for fear that laughter would take hold of her once more.

“If any of them had inherited my quiet nature, I would not need to stoop to this.” Her amusement was smothered in his shoulder. “I was surprised your brother lasted that long.”

“Apparently, Brandon’s children inherited the nature of their mother as well. According to Ned, he’s had plenty of time to prepare.”

“Cersei Lannister. Who would have thought?” She shrugged. Lyanna did not much care about her brother’s wife.

Sobering, she caught his gaze with hers. “It is enough for me that you consider it.”

“You won’t let up until I do will you?”

“Indeed. You know me so well.” He groaned in presumed exasperation. Lyanna beamed and tugged him further down. “My brother is patient; he’ll wait until you have made up your mind.”

“You are a pest, woman.”

“I’ll forgive that. I know you do not like not making all of the decisions.”

“That is not true.”

“It is. Too true.” Her lips touched his briefly.

“You will land us in trouble again.” Despite not planning on doing that, she did allow him the point. It had been she who’d landed them in trouble last time as well.

“We have not yet been to Sothoryos.” He pulled a face. “I reckon the children would be excited.”

“You will be the death of me.”

“Not necessarily. It could turn out well.” It was his turn to sigh. “But if it does not, then we will just do as we’ve always done. I can face anything as long as I am with you.”

“Your trust humbles me.” His fingers cradled the back of her skull. “Or is it that your certainty scared me?”

“Both? Come on, it will be an adventure. And we can finally wed in a sept.”

“A red temple is good enough.”

“But we do not even keep that faith.”

“You do not keep the Faith of the Seven either.”

“Nay but weddings are jolly good fun.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking. _But Sol, this doesn't clear up squat!_. And to that, my dear readers, I say this: I know; ain't that great?
> 
> So, this was it for the story. I hope you guys had some fun and pretty much found the ending unsatisfactory as it didn't answer any of your questions. If you're asking why, eh, what can I say. I'm on a tight schedule of finishing all these stories in two years' time, so needs must and all that. 
> 
> If you do have questions though, I am willing to answer.
> 
> All the best (and xoxo to those four of you who have been a constant fixture in my comments sections - basically I only finished this for you guys)!
> 
> My work is done.


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